Sacrificed With Love
by Lass of the Lake
Summary: She was meant to be a sacrifice, a message - that was all. They never expected her to be anything extraordinary - they didn't count on what she would become when put in that arena.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: During the 50th Hunger Games, the Victory of Haymitch Abernathy was a large upset. He'd inadvertently fought against the Capitol and used it's own mechanisms against itself. No public action could be taken against the boy responsible, but no one planned to let this lesson go unlearned. The next Hunger Games, the 51st, is one that no one ever speaks of - or wishes to remember.**

**This is the story of a girl from District 2 who had no purpose other than to be a sacrifice and serve as a reminder that absolutely no one escapes the eye of the Capitol and the odds are never in your favor, no matter how old you are or what District you hail from.**

**Unfortunately, nothing goes according to design.**

Chapter 1: Living to Death

_"Well, I suppose we all live in a slaughterhouse - at least my death will be a little less mundane."_

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><p>The Reaping was always the busiest day in District 2.<p>

It was a flurry of motion, everywhere the small girl looked. People rushing to get their children ready for the Reaping. She looked down at her own clothes and shrugged, supposing she was about as good as she was going to get anyway, and didn't even bother heading back to her home. It's not like she had any nicer clothes and her red hair would forever be a mess. Instead, she meandered around, watching the crying faces of mothers and the stony ones of fathers. Listening to the cries of first time participants and the resigned sighs of those who would be making their last appearance in the Reaping this year.

_That will be me next year, _the little girl thought to herself mildly as she watched another girl roughly her age hugging at her mothers legs and resisting as an older brother tried to pull her along without injuring her. The mother obviously didn't want to let her go, and her face was red with tears and contorted in agony, but with great effort, she was able to pry the little girl's hands from around her. With a mighty yank, the brother had managed to get her several feet away and she padded after him, still sniffling loudly and wailing as her mother turned her face away so she didn't have to watch her children walk to a raffle that could possibly hold the prize of death.

Parents weren't allowed to come to the Reapings anymore - not after one mother had flipped out two years ago and killed two peacekeepers before someone stopped her. No one had been there to volunteer for her little boy.

She didn't know why, but the young girl followed after the sobbing child and her brother, curious. She was going to attend the Reaping anyway, but this little girl's reluctance was almost palpable, and she wanted to see what it would drive her to if she were to be selected. A somewhat grim stance, she supposed, but they were all destined to go through the same deadly game if their name came up - what did it matter who saw you when it happened?

She put two people between her and the brother and sister so as not to be noticed - something she'd always been good at - and waited for the Reaping to start. The girl was crying still, and the boy looked hardened. He must have been seventeen or so, so he'd been through this before.

Finally, a man whom the girl had never seen before stepped forward. She cocked her head to the side in silent question. He wasn't the escort for District 2. Where was Grizick? Where was Mayor Alloy? Others murmured things that mirrored her thoughts, but she had no reason to voice her thoughts, so she kept to her silence and waited.

"Welcome, District 2," he said, his voice sonorous and somewhat enchanting, "I am Zoros Blase, the new escort for this, your lovely district."

The young girl was sated, her question answered, and she sat back for the show.

Zoros Blase was tall with dark hair and a smooth complexion. He wasn't dyed any odd colors like Grizick always had been and he a bit of stubble that looked almost like he could be from a District instead of the shining Capitol where it was elaborate facial hair or clean shaving. He explained Mayor Alloy's absence - his wife was giving birth - and then about Grizick being moved to District 5 as escort. The girl was pretty sure that was a demotion and briefly wondered what he'd done to deserve that before tuning back in.

He then went on to explain the history of the Hunger Games and the Dark Times and basically a bunch of stupid stuff that she'd been hearing since she could remember and could recite all by heart if asked to. But then he turned the tables. "And because of last year's Quarter Quell, where double the tributes were required, we will be accepting no volunteers this year. May the odds be ever in your favor."

To the girl, he sounded somewhat sarcastic as he recited the classic line for the escorts, like he knew the odds were never in there favor; and perhaps he did, but that changed nothing. He had never been through the Reaping, his children had never been put through the Reaping - he knew nothing.

He also did something else a bit different, and rather than selecting from the girl's names first, he went to the large glass bowl that contained boys names. His hand dug around in the hundreds of paper scraps for a time, finally coming up with one, still sealed. The poor soul whose name was written on that slip would either die or be forced to kill others. It wasn't too late for them yet; Zoros could still drop it back in the bowl and ruffle around for another names.

The odds weren't in their favor.

Zoros grasped the paper and walked back to the microphone before tearing the little slip open. His voice has lost much of it's charm, she realizes, when he calls out, "Aiden Hendry."

The girl notices the brother who'd been dragging his sister stiffen and his face go completely blank. The sister starts crying harder and tries to latch onto her brother, to keep him from going, but a peacekeeper intervenes, keeping her back and he starts his walk back to the stage, knowing with a certain agonizing certainty that no one's going to be able to save him from this. Zoros shakes hands with him and he reciprocates woodenly.

The young girl is suddenly not so eager to see his sister's reaction - to have a brother and sister on the same stage, fighting the same foes in the same arena where ultimately one of them will have to die. Even this young girl who has become so depraved in her eleven years of life doesn't want to live to see that.

It appears, in that sense, the odds are in her favor.

When Zoros goes over to pick from the selection of girls and takes his sweet little time digging around in the plethora of girls' names from all around her district, another Hendry doesn't come out. In fact, the name that does come out doesn't even include a surname, which appears to actually throw Zoros for a moment. "Our female tribute is... Lyria."

Lyria. Her name seemed to echo around the square in a silent question of who would step forward. Had anyone ever heard the name before? Which of those children would be walking to an almost certain death?

Suddenly, movement catches someone's eye as a few children move out of the way of another and the entire square falls silent in anticipation. A boot-clad foot is the first thing anyone on the edges of the Reaping can see of the female child. A black stocking with pale white skin gleaming from where it had torn open in places. The hem of a light blue dress was next, followed by the rest of the child. Bright red hair shone with the sun's rays, a black ribbon keeping the red mass of curls in place at the back of her head. Intelligent aquamarine eyes peer up at Zoros as she starts making her way to the stage, oddly complacent for someone in her position.

No one rushes out after her, no one begins crying, no one says anything. She makes it to the stage without aide of the peacekeepers and shakes hands with Zoros brightly, as if she has just won some grand prize rather than a one way pass to certain death.

Lyria's is the only smile in all of District 2. Even Zoros' smile has dropped at the sight of her young eager face. He's thinking it; the entire district is thinking it.

It has to be some sort of sick joke.

As if of one mind, the entire square erupts at once, the sound nearly deafening. The neat lines of children are disrupted as almost all adults in attendance swarm to the center of the square, all shouting things along the same line. Even the peacekeepers are at a loss for what to do. "She's not old enough! She can't be a tribute!" some voice finally rang out loud enough above the crowd. It was easy enough to see that this girl wasn't old enough, but many in the district had been keeping a very close eye on her for the last couple years. She was the only person who was completely and truly without a single family member in the whole 2nd District, making her a somewhat unique case among a privileged and career District 2.

Zoros took a bit of charge at the declaration and pulled the mic from its stand. "Excuse me, miss," he said, almost as if this was a casual conversation, "how old are you, exactly."

In a sweet voice, the red-head answers, "Ten. I turn eleven on the same day the Hunger Games start.

She was too young. Two fulls years too young to be even submitted into the drawing, let alone have her name drawn. It was madness. Peacekeepers quickly moved in, but for a district that was heavily made up of careers and future peacekeepers, it was a tough job. It was odd how serene she seemed about it all. Even Aiden Hendry seemed to have forgotten about his own predicament and was now staring at the little girl in disbelief.

Zoros was at a loss, which read clear on his face.

Some were able to figure it out, though most of the 2nd District was too outraged at the thought of the Capitol breaking its own rules - a ten year old, somehow selected for this deadly game when she shouldn't even have a possibility for being chosen.

The Capitol was breaking its own rules to show that they were not to be tampered with. By sending a ten year old into the arena, to her almost certain slaughter, they broke the rule that gave parents the most complete peace of mind they could have until their child reached the age of twelve - that their child had every chance to live another year.

This rule about no one being able to take the place of another as tribute had nothing to do with the Quarter Quell from the year before - this was a set up. And this girl - this one, lowly, lonely child with no one to speak for her - was selected because they thought no one would care if she lived or died.

The worst part of all was they were right - no one truly cared about this one child. It was the principal, not the child herself. If she'd been twelve, no one would have cared at all unless she proved to be a particularly interesting fighter.

Lyria herself was aware of all of this, and yet, the child raised a hand and waved at the crowd. "Happy Hunger Games!"

~Sacrificed With Love~

The young girl sat in her room of the Capitol building with no one to visit her. The seat she had chosen in the room was too high for her and her boots swung back and forth idly, waiting to be picked up and taken away from the 2nd District to a place where she would be showered with attention and luxury for a time. _It would be a nice time to die_, she thought with a little grim smile, when she finally had something she'd always wanted; someone to watch out for her.

Lyria had known from the second her name was drawn that no one would come visit her and that none of this had been a happy mistake and she'd be able to return to her normal life after the issue was resolved. Like it or not, she'd somehow become entangled in the Capitol's web and there was no getting out of it - not alive anyway. And Lyria very much liked being alive. It presented so many more options than the alternative, though it seemed she had little choice now. She would die, and soon, but first, she was going to embrace every opportunity being a tribute presented.

The doorknob turned and Lyria prepared to be whisked onto that train, far from her life here. Zoros Blase came through the door, but rather than beckoning her to come with him, he seated himself in the seat across from her. Lyria smiled, but cocked her head to the side in clear question.

Zoros had no idea what to make of her. She was so... young. But she seemed so smart. Her eyes alone spoke volumes that her age could not account for.

"Hi, Mr. Blase," the child greeted him brightly, hands folded in her lap as if she'd been brought up in a high class home. "It was nice of you to come visit before we leave. What can I do for you?"

Zoros was surprised. From what he gathered, this girl had lost her parents at the tender age of four, but had never gone to the orphanage. She'd been assigned a home, given a meager allowance by the district that was barely enough to purchase the most spoiled and rotten of foods, but somehow, she'd prospered. She went to school every day, was never sick and had even managed to find herself a job as something akin to a secretary/maid for one of the more wealthy families in the district. Not that they knew her apart from anyone else who worked for them. It was shocking how such a resourceful and bright child had gone completely unnoticed all this time, only to be recognized now.

Zoros shook his head at her and looked at her with his piercing brown eyes. "No, little one. I think the question is what I can do for you." She blinked at him, as if she had no idea what he could possibly talking about, her smile never wavering. Lying or acting - either way, she was talented at it.

"I don't need anything," she said simply. "And I have no goodbyes. Can I go see the train now? I hear it's really nice!"

Zoros was again shocked. She was so... upbeat. But he knew she spoke the truth - he'd watched that door for a good half-hour, extending the normal time for good-byes with permission from the President himself. No one had even moved toward it. So he felt no reason to keep her waiting here for people who would never come. He offered a small smile and a hand to the girl and said, "Sure."

Lyria grinned brightly again, sliding off the seat of the chair and taking his offered hand. He'd come to pick up the boy in a moment - right now, she was the primary concern, and he was still saying goodbye to his family.

Two peacekeepers followed after them and Lyria craned her neck more than once to look back at them distrustfully. Zoros could only make blind guesses on why she would be angry with them, of all people. It wasn't the peacekeepers who were forcing this fate on her. He gently assisted her onto the train and escorted her to the dining compartment. Her blue-green eyes went wide enough to fit the entire ocean in one iris and her smile was gorgeous.

She immediately began exploring the compartment, running to the biggest, cushiest chair in the room and pouncing on it. She shifted in the seat and sank into the cushion with childish giggles. Zoros watched as she darted back and forth, looking at absolutely everything there was to see.

He found himself quite fascinated with her. 10, highly intelligent, but still a child and a charming one at that.

Zoros picked up one of the reflective plates from the serving carts on the far wall and began to put small portions of different foods on it for her. When he'd finished, he turned towards her and said, "For you, Lyria." He walked over to where she had currently situated herself and placed the plate in her lap. Her mouth made an 'o' shape at she gazed at all the foods and her magnificent eyes sparked with joy at the sight, and then took the fork he'd left on the plate for her and dug into one of the little piles at random, making a delighted sound as she chewed. "I'll be back in a moment," he assured her before exiting the train and heading back to the Justice Building where the boy waited.

He was alone by the time Zoros returned and he had faint tear stains running down his cheeks, but it was clear he was trying not to make a scene of it. It would make him look like a horrible person if he started feeling sorry for himself after what happened to the female tribute for their District.

"She's waiting for us on the train," Zoros said gently, knowing they'd both been dealt a rotten hand in this life. It was hard to tell which was worse - being stripped of nothing and sent off to die like an animal, or being stripped of everything and forced to fight for ones life like a savage. It was a bit of a toss up, really.

The male tribute, Aiden, nodded and followed Zoros. The escort felt little need to coddle the sixteen year old boy, but he did feel sorry for him.

The both found Lyria snuggled into the big cushy chair she'd been so fond of earlier, eating some kind of plain cracker with a sauce on it. She grinned at Zoros, though the expression changed slightly at the sight of Aiden. She looked quizzical, pouty and a bit down-trodden all at once, if that were even possible. Finally she said, "Food's really good," and returned to her food without so much as another look at the older boy.

Zoros showed Aiden where the food carts were before departing, going to let the driver know that they were ready to go and round up both their mentors. Aiden didn't really take anything from the buffet - a sandwich and some juice - and just found himself sitting in a chair across from the little girl.

Lyria noticed that Aiden looked really tired. Perhaps the days events had taken all the energy from him. Or perhaps the strong exterior had all been a pretend for his younger sister, and now that she was no where in sight, he'd let it drop. She also noticed that he was staring at her, intently, as if she were some sort of project. She swiped at her face to make sure nothing was on it. There wasn't; she was clean. So then what was he looking at so intently? Finally, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Lyria was caught a bit off guard, but the smile automatically found her face without so much as a pause. "Yeah, I'm great. Best food I've ever had."

Looking at her, Aiden could believe it. She was really skinny, but not in a sickly way. He examined her some more as she ate another cracker. She was younger than his sister, his sister who had been wailing hysterically this morning at the mere _thought_ of being picked. And here this girl was, soundly selected and seemingly care free. He couldn't comprehend it. "Why are you so okay with this?"

Lyria looks up again, the smile still fully on her soft pink lips, though now it appears a bit forced and he knows he's found one of the chinks in her armor; she's not okay with this and she's lying to the world to convince them she is. Why? "Well, I suppose we all live in a slaughterhouse - at least my death will be a little less mundane." The way she says it is full of inflection, and yet, somehow it still sounds clinical. It was a formulated response - equal parts charm and morbid humor.

Aiden has no time to respond to her before the door opens and the mentors and Zoros return, but he studies her closer than ever.

~Sacrificed With Love~

President Snow watches her Reaping several times, confounded by the turn of events. She was alone in the world, not a single person to care for her, and now she had been selected for the Hunger Games. How had she managed to make it up to that stage not only without crying or throwing a tempter tantrum, but managing to smile and wish everyone a Happy Hunger Games?

He hadn't meant her to be quite such an accommodating child; he'd expected the bitterness of one abandoned and a grim outlook. If she continued to be so utterly charming... she could create more of a problem for Panem rather than the solution he'd hoped for.

The last victor - the one who was the cause of all this - had already been dealt with in a somewhat discreet manner. As President, he was supposed to favor the victors, not punish them. But that boy, Haymitch, had become a problem and he'd had to be punished for it. Now, he had to teach the rest of Panem the same lesson before they became a problem too. Hence the girl. If she was killed in the games - and surely she would be - Panem would fear for even their youngest children and would fall at the feet of the Capitol to protect them.

But if this girl - this Lyria - managed to make her way into the hearts of the people of the Capitol and all of Panem besides before she died in the games...

President Snow had to make sure she died fast. He couldn't let the people care for her. She must die, forgotten in name and all else but what she represents to the people.

A message from the Capitol that will not be ignored.

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><p><strong>AN: Hey guys. I was reading through the second Hunger Games book, Catching Fire, and I got to the part where they watch Haymitch compete in the Quarter Quell when I was struck with this idea. Haymitch had said they were angry with him for making them look stupid, but they never just take it out on the instigator, do they?**

**So I decided to write a story about their counter to Haymitch's act of defiance - another spark to the flame, as it is.**

**Let me know what you think - whether I should continue or not - and press the little button. Any criticism is welcome and I hope you will continue to read if I continue to write.**

**Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in you favor~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So in less than two hours after posting, I had three reviews asking for me to continue. I took that as a good sign and started writing the next chapter a couple days later. Hope you guys like.**

**FYI, the rest of this will be in Lyria's point of view, excluding some points that will be told in third person.**

Chapter 2: I Rock

_"You're Queen of the Rocks, so act like it."_

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><p>Lyria had packed nothing for herself and the Capitol had not been prepared for such a small tribute, so when she prepared for bed the night before, she'd just slipped on an overlarge shirt and gone to bed.<p>

The next morning, she woke a bit disoriented. For a moment, she sat in her bed upright, wondering what could have possibly roused her when the person on the other side of her door knocked again. Lyria squeaked in surprise before regaining herself. "Lyria," a male voice she didn't remember called through the panel of her door, "come down to breakfast, would you? Lecks and I want to talk strategy with you and the boy."

Lecks and Riven were going to be the mentors for District 2 this year. Riven was to be her mentor and Lecks would be taking care of Aiden. They'd already agreed the night before that she and Aiden probably would get each other killed if they attempted to work together in the games, and neither of them had a particular like for the other, so there would be no alliance. Not that Lyria particularly minded going in alone, she just hadn't thought she'd be left stranded so quickly.

Lyria nodded to herself before calling out a quiet, "Okay!" and attempting to get up. Of course, the large shirt had somehow managed to get completely entangled in the sheets while she'd slept and Lyria was left in a big knot that she wasn't sure she could escape from.

First, she tried getting out of the bed, but the sheets broke her momentum just as she thought she'd been freed and she was pulled back, landing against the bed with a thunk and a sharp pain in her back to show for it. Next, she tried untying the sheets from around her shirt, but since she didn't see how they'd even gotten that way in the first place, she quickly gave up on that plan. Finally, she laid down on her bed face down and slowly wriggled out of the tangled mess of fabrics. This last attempt was a success, and she thought about continuing to try and free the shirt, but decided to leave it for someone else to deal with instead.

Someone had clearly seen the need for new provisions for the tiny tribute because there were three outfits for her to choose from on a chair in the corner of her room that were much more suited to one her size. She chose a simple black ensemble with silver stitching shaping flowers on the blouse and went to join the others in the tribute compartment where she and Aiden had been housed for the night.

Lyria stepped into her personal bathroom and groomed her messy red locks haphazardly until they were half presentable and then tied it back with her black ribbon once again.

The others weren't hard to find; all four of the others were seated around a table just outside her door and Zoros patted the seat next to him. She quickly scurried to the seat, feeling very much like the child at the adult table. It wasn't till this moment that she also realized those surrounding her were very much male. Lecks was an older man in his fifties, having one the 13th Hunger Games 38 years prior. His hair was whitened from years of stress and loss of at least one, if not both, of the tributes from District 2. He had rather pointed features and a usually placid expression. Riven, her mentor, was significantly younger, having won the 48th Hunger Games at the age of 16, making him 19 now. This would be his first year mentoring. He had dark skin, dark hair, but very light set eyes, which seemed rather common among families that actually did mine the precious jewels for the Capitol - Aiden had these very features.

Lyria looked around at the others, eyes moving from one person to the next, while all eyes rested on her, making her squirm in her seat. It was a little unnerving for the girl to be under such scrutiny, but she knew she'd have to get used to it - especially if she survived. Finally, after tiring of the stretching silence and the staring, she said and asked, "Alright, are we going to stare at me, or are we going to help me survive for a little bit once I'm in the arena? Because if we're going to stare at me, I'm going to need a mirror."

Zoros nearly choked on his coffee and Lecks started laughing heartily. Aiden looked a little confused - most likely at her casual stance at everything - and Riven seemed to be a mixture of impressed and amused. "Alright, kiddo," Riven said, "what can you do?"

Lyria brightened considerably now that they were actually considering tactics for her, but the light that had come over her quickly faded. What could she do? "I can survive," was all that she could come up with. She'd never really analyzed her method to it before, but all this time, she'd managed to live when she should be dead.

This assent was met with a certain amount of silence while each of them took this information in. Shockingly, it was Lecks, who she'd had the least exposure to, who spoke up. "You're intelligent. Really, almost at genius levels, I'd wager. You're also a charmer, which you proved by your little show at the Reaping. Bet you're a world-class liar, aren't you Darling?"

"Takes one to know one," she sang out as she buttered a piece of bread, which caused Lecks to chuckle again.

"That it does, that it does," Lecks acknowledged. Lyria remembered a couple clips from his Hunger Games. They often showed them because it had been so exciting for the 2nd District after several years of losing to Districts 1 and 4 and even a surprise upset by Distict 10. Lecks had been a career and teamed up with the five other ritual careers and then the two district 9 careers, all the while, planning to take them out with two other tributes. When the time came, all seven of Lecks' "teammates" had been wiped out with little problem. And with the five careers gone, the game had become mostly a battle of wits, which Lecks had won when he replaced the last remaining tribute's water with Tracker Jacker venom.

Riven stared at his tribute. For his part, he had been a career and mostly just slashed his way through the enemy, not even bothering to join the other careers in this venture. Sure, he'd had some moments of brilliance, but he was no genius - how on Earth would he mentor her? He didn't know how to help her play to her strengths. "Maybe you should take her, Lecks," Riven suggested suddenly, turning to the older man swiftly.

Lecks waved him off as soon as he said it, not taking a moment to ponder it. "No, I think you will suit her needs just fine, Riven. She has charm that I lack and that could very well save her life in the arena if you play it up right." Lecks winked at the girl across from him. "She's already said she can survive."

Aiden, who'd been largely ignored up until that point, became the center of attention as Lyria looked up from her breakfast. "What can you do?"

The male tribute swallowed the lead that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat under the weight of those gorgeous sea colored gems that she'd claimed for eyes. Liar, charmer, genius. Suddenly, the girl across from him didn't seem so innocuous. He'd seen what having a mind in the games could do for you if you used it right. He didn't want to go into the arena with her knowing what he was capable of. "I started working in the mines last year to help my father, so I've got a bit of strength, stamina-"

"And lack a talent for lying," the girl cut him off, looking indifferent as ever, but there was no question in her tone.

The other three peered between the two tributes. Zoros saw the boy grow pale as he stuttered, trying to tell them he wasn't lying, but it seemed to have gotten stuck. The girl shrugged, taking attention again. "If you didn't want to say, you should have just said so."

This left them in a quiet lull. Lecks still looked highly amused and Riven was hiding a smile of his own. Sometime later, Zoros' watch beeped, signaling that the Reapings would be shown. Aiden paled considerably, but went and sat next to the girl as she practically skipped over to the large screen in the back of the compartment. Again, he was struck by the indifference she showed. The Reapings were re-runs, since obviously the two tributes had been a bit preoccupied at the time that the rest were aired. Lyria watched the screen intently and Riven found himself waiting for her to pull a pad and pencil out of nowhere and start jotting notes. It was clear she was very observant.

First, they saw the Reaping of District 1, which drew two people into the games besides themselves. A tall, slender blond by the name of Jewel and a tan, muscled dusty-brown haired boy who the announcer referred to as Bron. The boy worried Lyria far more than the girl, who seemed dim and silly (at best.)

The next reaping shown was of those in 2 who were currently in the car, watching themselves on camera. Lyria smiled brightly as a tiny version of herself wished the people of Panem a Happy Hunger Games. Riven immediately saw what Lecks had meant; she _was_ charming.

Three followed soon after, bringing in a boy and a girl who Lyria thought didn't seem to fond of each other, although, it might have just been their situation making them grouchy. Either way, they didn't seem very frightful to the District 2 girl. District 4 provided more concern, being that it was another primarily career district and it seemed two very career tributes had been chosen, judging by the girl's stoicism and the cocky smile that crossed the boy's face when his name was called. Lyria made a mental note; watch out for Cale and Jansen.

Other districts were shown, though only a tall, rather built boy from 7 really caught her attention. Lyria had little to no physical strength; she could barely carry things home from the market in 2 sometimes and the next day her arms would be screaming in agony, so already, people who came from districts where physical strength was practically a mandate for survival stuck out as threats in her mind. This boy, however, both worried and intrigued her. He was strong and able-bodied, the dress shirt he'd worn to his Reaping rolled up to the elbows to show his impressive forearms and hugging his chest snugly. He was old enough to need to shave, but clearly hadn't this morning based on the line of stubble that ran across his strong jaw. What really caught her attention was his look of complete indifference. Tristan of District 7 - she'd definitely have to watch out for him.

The girl from eight, Elsie, also caught Lyria's attention rather soundly. Her hair was plaited into a messy blond braid and spectacles sat on her nose, tilted slightly to the left, and she looked just about as weak as Lyria herself. But Lyria saw the way she looked at the crowd and then around herself - calculating, possibly even trying to figure out an escape route.

The two from 9 didn't even seem noteworthy. Both of the members of 10 looked capable enough and eleven produced another impressive male that Lyria didn't want to think about have a physical fight with. The girl from 12 looked rough - Teira - and the boy looked really, really tired, but able - Marris.

Lyria was left with a sense of isolation after watching the Reapings. All other tributes had been over the age of 14, leaving at least a three year age gap between her and the second youngest tribute, who was from 6.

When she mentioned as much, no one knew what to say to her, so no one said anything.

It wasn't until the car of the train went dark that anyone moved from where they were seated around the television. The lights adjusted quickly, but not quickly enough, apparently, because when they came back up, there was an empty seat next to Zoros. All four men were baffled by the sudden disappearance until they spotted her balanced precariously on a chair to look out the darkened windows. Aiden gulped again - she was fast, too.

When light returned to the world outside, Lyria squealed loudly, and turned towards the four still at the table. "It's the Capitol! Zoros, come look at it! It's gorgeous!"

For his part, Zoros didn't mention that he'd grown up here and had no need to look to know of its magnificence. He hadn't known how to talk to her or act around her when she was speaking with the others about her strategy; the words of a adult coming out of a child had thrown him and left him in a state of speechlessness for the duration and some time after. And after the Reapings, he didn't know what to do or to say to her when she realized she would be truly separate from every other tribute in the games. But an excited child was something he'd seen many times in his life, and so he got up and indulged her childish fancies.

Lecks turned to Aiden, who was starting to look a little ill. He couldn't face this girl, and certainly couldn't kill her. "You doing alright, son?" Lecks says as a server comes through and clears the plates. Zoros is starting to point out things to Lyria and a quick peek at her proves to be sickening for the boy.

"No, not really." He can't find it in himself to attempt a lie.

~Sacrificed With Love~

"You are just the cutest little girl in all of Panem!" one of the women who works on her squeals as they correct her skin. She's got a couple scars from various little accidents that they're trying to get rid of without affecting the freckles that run rampant over her arms, legs, shoulders and pepper over her cheeks and nose. They've already fixed her hair into neat curls. "Isn't she just, Atherial?" the woman asks one of the other members of her prep team.

Atherial pops around from where she'd been working on the backs of Lyria's ankles (which were scarred many times over from ill-fitting shoes) and grins brightly. "She is just," Atherial agrees. Atherial looks to be about twenty-seven and her hair and skin are flawless. Her skin isn't dyed like the other two members of her prep team, though her hair flows to her waist in gorgeous pink waves that would make the ocean jealous on its most scenic days. "I never thought I'd get to make over such a precious little doll!"

The third woman who is working on Lyria, Jenile, they called her, giggled delightedly. "I know. I wish Tigris would let us get rid of these freckles and darken the red of her hair, though. She looks too young. And the freckles make her look dirty."

Lyria frowned at Jenile's comments, slightly off-put by the part where she said the freckles made her look dirty. She'd always liked her multitude of freckles. They were so rare in District 2. When her brother and she were younger, he would connect them to make pictures and call her... Well, that didn't really matter much now, did it? They were here, he wasn't, and they didn't like her freckles.

"She _is_ young," A gravelly voice intoned from the door, causing Lyria to look up at a fourth woman, if you could even really call her that. Stripes were printed on her skin, her dark hair swept back, and she had whiskers jutting out from either side of her face. Lyria had never seen cosmetic surgery like this before and was captivated by the woman's likeness to a tiger Even her movements and words seemed somewhat feline. "She is the youngest we have ever seen and hopefully ever will see again. But she is not dirty - she is pure."

Lyria didn't know quite how to respond to the woman; she couldn't even tell if "pure" had been an insult or a compliment in this woman's eyes. She intimidated Lyria to the point of being nearly beyond thought.

"Leave us! Your jobs are done for now," she snapped and the three women jumped up, the one whose name I couldn't recall squeaking like a mouse. Before the Lyria could even register what was going on, the prep team had fled from the room, leaving her with the feline woman who she could only assume was Tigris. She took a slinking step forward and came to sit on the cot with the small girl. "I am Tigris, your stylist. You are Lyria, yes?"

Lyria only nodded, feeling as if she'd had all the words stolen from her vocabulary.

Tigris wasn't satisfied, though. "Speak up, girl! They tell me you are clever."

Lyria wasn't sure if she had practiced to make her voice hum like a cat's purr when she spoke or if it was something natural, but it certainly made the woman's choice look more believable, and if there was anything to know about Tigers it was that you shouldn't anger them. "Yes, madam Tigris, I am Lyria," the girl responded, sounding far more confident than she felt. The prep team had left her in a robe, but she hopped off the cot, landing on the ground with a small thunk, and swooped down into a low curtsy. "Pleased to meet you."

When Lyria lifted her head to gauge Tigris' reaction to her gesture, she was met with a cat-like smile. "Good, good. Proper manners, a presence and just enough class too keep you from looking like a foolish child. I believe they may have sent me a show-stopper this year. Come with me to see your dress."

It was clear to Lyria that Tigris was pleased with her, though she didn't truly know why. She didn't question it.

Lyria followed Tigris into the next room and breathed in the clean air. She hadn't been aware of how painstakingly stuffy it had become in her prep room with all those chemicals until now, and when she breathed in, it felt as if she was extinguishing a fire in her chest. Had she slowly been suffocating to death in there? Lyria was so preoccupied, she didn't noticed Tigris pick something out of the closet, but suddenly, the feline woman was standing before her with a garment bag and unzipping it. "You are from District 2 and as such are from the District famous for it's masonry and stone work. Often, a stylist would choose an interesting way to spin off the look of a mason, but I've gone in another direction. Aiden, the boy from your district, will be a mason, but you will be stone!"

With a flourish, she removed the gown from the bag, revealing a silvery-grey dress with darker grey accents. It gave the illusion of the rocky edges of a stone as the material shifted in open air. Lyria moved forward, stroking the material with her hands and admiring how it seemed to turn to liquid rock in her grasp. "I don't think there will ever have been a stone quite as lovely," Lyria complimented.

~Sacrificed With Love~

There was a great commotion as everyone struggled to get ready for the grand entrance. The girl from District 1, Jewel, was screeching about her dress not fitting correctly and how her hair had gone flat. "Do any of you freak shows know what you're doing?" she demanded of her stylist, throwing the platinum tiara onto the pavement. Her own partner looked bored with the antics, though other districts were looking on with either amusement or annoyance. "Fix me! I refuse to go out in front of all of Panem looking like this!"

Lyria couldn't help the giggle that escaped her at that, thinking about how she had looked just fine before she'd started throwing her little tantrum and resisted the urge to tell her that there was nothing anyone could do to fix her, lest she make an enemy before the games even started.

Despite Lyria's best attempts to keep on the girl's good side, being so close, Jewel heard her giggle and turned on her, wrathful. "You think this is funny, 2?" she shrieked. Lyria tried to suppress another smile, but failed. This only served to fuel the fire of Jewel's rage. "Well, I don't know what you're laughing about," she exclaimed, looking disdainfully at Lyria's gorgeous dress. "You look like a walking disaster."

Somehow, Lyria found it hard to take that to heart.

The other districts had moved in a bit closer to watch the show as Jewel kicked up more and more of a fuss, and the guy from District 7 also chuckled a little bit. Lyria swore for a second that Jewel's hair was going to catch fire with how red her face got. When she demanded to know what he was laughing about, the brawny boy shrugged. "I just find it hilarious that out of all the people you could be screaming at, you choose the little girl whose half your size to pick on. I mean, talk about picking on the weakest link."

Even though he was trying to help - or something of the like - Lyria found his comment about her being weak rather insulting. Far more so than Jewel's comments about her looks. She frowned thoughtfully at him.

Jewel looked murderous. "Who the hell asked you?"

The girl from District 7, who was dressed as an old-timey lumberjack, complete with flannel shirt and weird looking hat, ax slung across her shoulders carelessly, scoffed. "You asked him, Princess. So why don't you go grab your tiara and sit in your chariot like a good little brat."

Jewel was apparently too offended to even come up with a decent response, sputtering like a fool for nearly a whole minute while those around her looked on, waiting to see what she would come up with. Nothing coherent ever made it past her lips, and despite the fact that Lyria had done the least insulting out of the three of them, she somehow found herself the object of Jewel's absolutely murderous glare as she finally gave up coming up with a retort. The blond stomped her foot and turned on heel, heading back to her carriage. She swooped down to pick up her tiara with as much dignity as she could muster, but Bron openly laughing at her probably tore whatever dignity of hers that remained to shreds.

All the tributes faded into the background, going to stand by their carriages and wait for the opening ceremony. It was the two from 7 that kept her attention - the male who'd stood up for her and then proceeded to insult her turned away, not so much as even acknowledging her presence. The girl, Ryanne, she thought her name was, winked at her, as if she were in on some great secret, and followed him back to their carriage.

Lyria was left with a series of mixed emotions. Annoyance, confusion and satisfaction. It was an odd, tumultuous combination that sent her stomach into flips and her mind into the very depths of every question she'd ever had.

Suddenly, Tigris appeared, adjusting Lyria's dress and latching a necklace around her throat. The feline of a woman also placed something on the crown of her head before pulling a mirror out of her coat. Lyria looked at herself and was surprised at what she saw - not a young girl, but a young woman. The necklace was composed of polished stones strewn together with a large piece of onyx sitting in the center like a shiny black diamond. On the top of her head sat a grey tiara that matched her dress with little onyx bits embedded in the stone. "I look like rock royalty," Lyria said in awe.

"Not just rock royalty, my child," Tigris corrected with an absolutely cat-like grin. "You're Queen of the Rocks, so act like it. Make me proud."

Before Lyria could respond with her thanks, a fanfare sounded. Tigris practically tossed her in the carriage, nearly making her lose her balance. She gripped onto the edge of the chariot, but when she looked back, the stylist had disappeared like smoke in the night. It was mere seconds later that the carriages started moving forward.

There are both advantages and disadvantages to being second in the line-up, Lyria decided as the entire crowd thundered at the sight of the first carriage, just outside the line of her vision. Advantage - getting it over with. Disadvantage - they lose interest as soon as the next carriage pulls into the spotlight. Advantage - there's very little to be compared to, so you aren't disappointing the crowd. Disadvantage - the lights blind your and the noise deafens you so that you can't hear the Capitol's reaction to the rest of the tributes.

Lyria was still gripping the chariot, but otherwise had no indication to where she was. The flashes and bright spotlights that had been pointed at her and Aiden had completely blinded her and it was with great difficulty that she managed to hear President Snow welcoming them to the games.

And now, they would truly begin.

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><p><strong>AN: So, that's chapter 2, people. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.**

**I'd really like to know your opinions on this story, good or bad. I need to know what you like and what you don't so I can be sure to fix it or add more of it in the future. So, if you have any input, whether its to tell me about something you liked, something your disliked, or just to tell me to keep going, I hope you will let me know with a review. Thank your for reading.**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So no news of anymore reviews for Jassy yet, which makes me kind of sad, but whatevs, bro!**

Chapter 3: Dangerous Ties

_"You have to be either really smart or really stupid to manage to act so above it all at this stage in the Games."_

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><p>Lyria was amazed as she and Aiden were lead into their living area. Sure, she was still a bit blind and deaf, so she wasn't getting anything that Lecks was saying at all - she could only just see his mouth moving, so it was a miracle she knew he was speaking - but she was in awe of the dorm-like area. The kitchen was bigger than her entire house! Not that Lyria's home was anything to go by; it was issued by the Mayor of District 7, along with a small allowance that was probably designed to either keep her barely alive or let her whither away slowly. She'd never actually decided.<p>

But this place... it was magnificence at it's finest and looked so pristine, Lyria had reservations about touching anything for fear of possibly breaking or mussing something. She followed the others, who were going to sit down at the table for dinner. The table was already set and full of steaming, delicious looking food.

An Avox girl - Lyria had been forewarned about their silent servants on the train - with long, almost white hair, scooped things up for Lyria because they feared the child would break things. This seemed to amuse Aiden since he kept snickering into his own stew. Lyria continually glared at him as she pointed at something else to put on her plate, since she didn't know the name of anything on the table. When she was finished, the Avox girl set it down in front of Lyria, and Lyria turned to her with a smile. "Thank you for the help," Lyria said before turning to her food. The Avox girl looked taken aback, but then gently smiled and moved away to see to other things about their suite.

Zoros looked at the girl with a bit of surprise himself. "No parents for the last six, almost seven, years of your life and still you have impeccable manners. I must admit, I think that is astonishing."

Lyria looked at Zoros with a slight questioning frown. "Because I've had no parents, I should have bad manners?"

Zoros didn't seem to know how to dig his way out of this hole, and Lecks finally cut in, saying, "One who was not properly raised wouldn't be expected to have manners such as yours, no. But the fact that you do is a great attribute. Self-raised, self-taught, self-sufficient. You've taken a lot on in your young life, Lyria, and those from other districts will be able to appreciate that."

Lyria smiled a little bit, and returned to her food while the others began to talk about things she cared little for. Apparently, they were waiting for the two stylists to join them to talk about the opening ceremony because once they sat down, the table exploded with talk of how it went, personally, Lyria had no earthly idea. Her vision was still a little spotty from the bright lights, if that was any indication to how blind she'd been, and everyone sounded a bit muffled, but that could be her tuning them out rather than actual adverse effects from the overwhelming sound the crowd had emitted.

The girl had become rather interested in a sliced meat that was light in color and smothered some sort of sauce. It was very good and by far the best thing on her plate besides a soft, bread-like side dish. Lyria was about to ask what it was when she realized there was a gap in conversation and she had no earthly idea why that could be. She peeked up from behind a curtain of red bangs and found everyone looking at her with interest. She raised her head slowly and looked around at the others. They were looking at her expectantly, though she had no idea what they could possibly be expecting out of her. Finally she said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

Tigris looked at her with an expression that could only be described as knowing and said, "I asked how it felt to be the star of the Capitol this evening."

Lyria looked at everyone dumbly. "Was I?"

Zoros looked at her incredulously. "Of course you were! You stole the entire country of Panem's attention tonight with your dress and your sweet smile! How could you possibly not know? They were screaming your name!" He looked at her, as if to gauge a reaction. He was met with a look of profound confusion. "And that aside, we were talking about it the whole way here."

Lyria felt a little guilty for having no idea what was going on. "I'm afraid the ceremony has made me a bit blind and deaf. I haven't really be able to hear much since District 1's carriage presented itself and you all still sound a bit unclear." Lyria also didn't remember smiling.

"So you had no idea you were the favored tribute out of everyone tonight?" Riven asked with raised brow. Aiden, who sat between Lecks and his stylist was looking more and more downtrodden by the second, though Lyria truly had no clue why. If they were screaming for her, they were screaming for him too, right?

Lyria shook her head and Lecks chuckled at her lightly before standing up and wiping his mouth and going over to Lyria to pick-up her plate. Lyria was confused for a moment until he grabbed her hand and led her along with him to the couch. "I'm sure they're already replaying it," he said, sitting her down and placing the plate on her lap. He sat beside her and turned the TV on. The screen flickered to life and Lyria was met with the sight of the two commentators who always presided over the events before the games. They were laughing. "Sources say that District 1 tribute, Jewel Sabarra, threw quite the fit before the ceremony. Maybe that explains the state of her hair," Claudius Templesmith said, causing Caesar Flickerman to laugh. A picture of Jewel flashed onto the screen, showing her blond hair to be mussed and her scowling.

"Yes, and apparently, she yelled at the two District 7 tributes and the youngest tribute in the competition this year, young Lyria of District 2," Caesar replied.

Claudius nodded. "Speaking of Lyria, Caesar, did you see her outfit? She could have been a stone cut straight from the rocks. Gorgeous!" Lyria's eyes widened as the began talking about her. The two commentators always had favorites and they always talked up the ones they liked, so for them to be complimenting her... it was a good thing.

"I know what you mean," Caesar said in agreement, his white smile flashing behind his grey-ish lips. His hair had been dyed a powdery blue for this year. "And she is just so great about this whole thing! I mean, she was too young to be selected, but the whole country saw how well she took that." A picture of Lyria at her reaping, smiling and waving at the crowd before her flashed on the screen. "And then tonight, she managed to blow us all away again with her stunning outfit and her glittering personality." Another picture of the red-headed child came up on the screen, and she was smiling brightly, eyes slightly squinted from the light and again, she was waving at the crowd. "I don't think I've ever seen someone win over the crowd so fast!"

"You want to know who else I thought cleaned up rather nice for tonight? The boy from District..." And just like that, Lyria was no longer the topic of discussion, but the reel of the ceremony began playing behind the two men and Lyria saw more of herself in the film than she'd probably ever seen of herself in mirrors.

Lecks turned off the TV, knowing Lyria had lost interest in whatever was happening. Lyria, herself, was in a state very closely related with shock. This is a girl who hasn't had someone to give her any real attention in years and all of a sudden, she's a favored tribute and the entire Capitol is screaming her name. She's been praised on national television. All that she'd wanted since her parents and older had disappeared almost seven years earlier... it had finally come to her, even if it wasn't ideal or conventional. Lyria felt as if she'd just hit some sick nirvana.

And it made her realize something else. She'd caught their attention; she could get sponsors, people to root for her, people to care.

Lyria could win.

Up until this point, she'd been hoping to survive long enough to make an impression - perhaps even manage to make a friend before she died - and maybe turn the odds in the favor of a half-decent tribute. Now she knew that if she could get these people behind her, she could be the one with the odds in her favor. Finally.

Zoros interrupted her train of thought. "You're the star of the show," he declared dramatically, "I think these will be the best Games yet."

"Yes," Lecks said, though his tone was much different from Zoros' and he was looking directly at Lyria, right into her eyes. "I think these Games will definitely be something to see."

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria felt ridiculous.

The night before, she'd been notified that she had training the next morning and all that would entail; she'd even begun to come up with a training strategy right before bed! But the next morning, when she'd found her training outfit sitting on the couch in her room as if it belonged there, she was tempted to call someone in there and ask them if she was being messed with.

Oh, if only. After her shower - oh, what a blissful invention - she pulled on the undergarments they laid out for her, the grey t-shirt and then the black jumpsuit. She felt like one of those men who worked the sewers in her district - it was considered a very lowly job to do so, in her District - though rather than a sanitation tag on her back, she had a large 2. She plucked at the material disdainfully and hardly wanted to leave her room, let alone go to training. But if she wanted to survive, training was a must. When she left her room and found Aiden, she felt much better. Aiden looked ten times worse and he looked extremely miserable.

They were escorted down to the elevator by Lecks and Riven who were both giving them different advice. Lecks was telling Aiden he should try to make an alliance with someone - possibly the careers - and Riven was telling Lyria to stay away from the fight training and focus more on survival and practical skills.

The elevator ride down seemed to take hours to Lyria who wanted to just get away from him.

The second the glass doors slid open, the two tributes from two were out the door, going in opposite directions like the other was about to kill them. Several other districts, which had already arrived for training, took notice of the two with raised brows. Lyria goes to stand on one side of the line of tributes that has formed and Aiden heads for the other, coming to a stop next to Jewel. "Having trouble with the brat?" she sneers to him. Aiden doesn't respond.

A woman steps forward and welcomes them and explains all the rules which Aiden and Lyria have already heard, so Lyria looks at the others, taking those into account that she hadn't earlier, when she'd watched their Reapings. The girl from District 7, for instance, who caught her eye and winked at her again, green eyes glimmering with mischief. Lyria cocked an eyebrow at her, but then let her eyes wander over to some of the others. The girl from 8 who she'd noticed being fidgety at her Reaping seemed to be reenacting it - her hands couldn't be stilled and her eyes flew everywhere, looking but maybe not actually seeing. It occurred to Lyria she could be faking being so nervous, but it looked genuine enough to her.

The boy from 6, who was the youngest in the competition besides Lyria herself, looked rather nervous as well, though he was making an obvious attempt to pay attention that the girl from 8 wasn't.

All the tributes were dismissed and sent off to get their instruction. Lyria headed in practically the opposite direction as everyone else, going right for edible plants and survival, rather than weapons training, as Riven had instructed. Lyria had seen the wisdom in his instruction - she wouldn't be able to hold some of those weapons, or if she could, she would tire very fast and others would take up too much time to master. Her best bet was to stay away from the other tributes, learn how to survive off of land and find water and outlast the others. It's not like she had much of an option.

But it seemed someone was willing to give her an option.

Lyria had just identified a very poisonous root when the girl from 7, Ryanne, swooped down in front of her, nearly startling Lyria out of her skin. "Hey, Red," Ryanne greeted, grabbing some rosemary from a small patch and taking a bite. She didn't even think about it twice! "I see your fellow District 2 man has walked out on you." Ryanne nodded behind Lyria and she turned to see Aiden, standing by a dummy that was absolutely shredded, sword in hand with a pack of tributes from 1, 4 and 10 surrounding him, clapping him on the back and cheering him on. He'd definitely managed to muscle his way into their good graces.

"Yep," Lyria said with a "whatever" left unspoken in her tone.

Ryanne grabbed another handful of plants and popped it into her mouth. It was then that Lyria remembered that Ryanne was from District 7 which was where Panem housed it's lumbering industry. Lumber meant trees, trees meant forest and forest meant multitude of plants. Of course Ryanne would be able to tell plants apart - she'd probably grown up eating greens for a midday snack. That would be a very useful tactic if they were dropped in a forest. "So," Ryanne started, still nibbling on her greens, "I was wondering if you might want to team up with me?"

Lyria froze mid-motion and looked up at Ryanne incredulously, like she couldn't believe she'd just suggested that, though Ryanne made no move to defend herself; she just waited for Lyria's answer. Lyria wiped her hands on the leg of her jumpsuit and turned to look at Ryanne. "Now why would you want to team up with me?"

Ryanne shrugged and gave Lyria a cheeky grin. "Just 'cause."

Lyria almost snorted, but managed to scoff instead. "You want to team up with the ten year old 'just 'cause?' That doesn't sound like a very well thought out plan to me? What could I offer you in the arena? What could you offer me?" Lyria stood up and Ryanne's eyes followed her, though the girl herself stayed sitting in the patch of plants. "Sorry, 7," Lyria said, using her District number as an identifier to dehumanize their encounter, "but I'm not looking for an alliance that has no purpose."

Ryanne's smile only widened and she stood, watching Lyria's retreating back and realizing quickly that she wasn't the only one. The tall, brown-haired girl crossed her arms across her chest and simply called out after her; "Bullshit!" The redheaded girl froze, but didn't turn. "You know any alliance - not just one with me - would give you an advantage at this point that you don't have. And you have something I want."

This caught Lyria's attention and she spun around on heal, coming to face Ryanne once more. "And what is that?"

Ryanne began fiddling with her brown locks that were currently tied in a very long side ponytail. For a moment, Lyria thought she might say her hair color, which would be ridiculous. But she didn't. Instead, Ryanne slowly bridged the gap between them with deliberate steps, perhaps showing off to the male from her district that was watching both girls now, intensely. Lyria had yet to notice Tristan's interest in the conversation, but Ryanne had seen it the moment she'd approached the girl in question. "You create an interest - a spark - that the rest of us seem to lack and I have strength and survival skills that you need. If we teamed up, we could be a force to reckon with. And it may keep the careers off our back long enough to find away to kill them off without too much risk or hassle."

Lyria was still looking at the larger girl with a look that could only be described as confusion, though it still might not be an accurate term - maybe more disbelieving. "Alright, I see what I get for helping you - you're obviously a lot stronger and more able bodied than I am, but I... spark?" Lyria had no idea what Ryanne meant by that, but she forged on. "How does my... sparkage help you?"

It was Ryanne's turn to look at Lyria disbelievingly. "Haven't you been listening to me at all?" the older girl asked in exasperation. Ryanne's hands dropped to her side and she looked around at the others and the gamemakers who should have been watching them, taking note, but no one seemed to care one way or another. Lyria noticed that Ryanne's thumb started to drum against her thigh - a nervous tick that grew as her face showed both irritation and indecision. "Alright, I'm guessing your pretty smart, right? I mean, you have to be either really smart or really stupid to manage to act so above it all at this stage in the Games. You don't let them see how nervous, scared or angry you are, but you're nine years old or something, right, so I know you must be dying inside."

Lyria was actually starting to feel somewhat indignant by the end of the girl's little monologue. "First of all," Lyria said, tapping her forefinger and speaking like she was talking to some inept child; a tone that a child shouldn't be able to manage, "I'm ten and I turn eleven in less than a week and second of all... no, not really. I feel pretty good." It was almost a complete lie on Lyria's part, but she didn't feel a shred of guilt for it.

Ryanne wasn't impressed by Lyria's bravado and Lyria was suddenly a child at the adult's table again; playing pretend and make believe and too young to understand what was going on. This lit something in her chest that burned.

"Lyria," Ryanne said, using her name for the first time in a way that was a mix of desperation, pleading and hopefulness, "I know you're smart and I know you can win them over!" She swept an arm outwards, gesturing to the rest of the gym, but Lyria knew she meant more than just the other tributes - she meant all of Panem. "If I can keep you alive long enough, you could get enough sponsors to buy the arena!"

Ryanne wasn't stupid and she wasn't crazy and Lyria could definitely see that the benefits of them teaming up went both ways, but one thing kept nagging her. "Alright, say we form an alliance and we manage to make it to the end of the Games - just us. What would we do then?" Because if Lyria put any effort into helping her and keeping her alive and she returned the favor, she knew she wouldn't be able to kill her and live in luxury for the rest of her life. Alliances could get really dangerous in the Games. Lecks was a prime example.

Ryanne shrugged. "More likely than not, one of us isn't going to make it that far. It'll be a miracle if it comes down to the two of us, but on the off chance it does... well, I guess we'd just cross that bridge when we came to it. No point in planning for something that has such a low probability." Ryanne huffed, her head rolling forward to hang tiredly, but her green orbs glittered at Lyria from beneath the veil of dark lashes. "So are you in?"

"Yeah," Lyria acquiesced, finally giving up the battle; "I'm in."

~Sacrificed With Love~

"You're crazy!" he said, following her through their little complex after they'd finally left the training hall. "Absolutely bat-shit nuts! What were you thinking, going into an alliance with her?" Tristan was stopped by a door slamming in front of him the lock clicking to show that Ryanne had locked it. He gave up following her, but he wasn't about to quit trying to talk some sense into her. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed and jaw set. "You know she's not here by accident. She's a liability and she's going to get you killed!"

Ryanne didn't respond, though the rustling in her room proved she was still there and that if he could hear her, she could still hear him. "I always knew you weren't all there, Ryanne, but I must say, this is a new level of insanity. If you wanted to die so badly-"

"Quit making yourself into such a jackass, Tristan!" Ryanne said, throwing the door open to reveal her, shirt only half on and hair mussed half to hell. She'd thrown a pair of loose cotton pants on that managed to flatter her messy look. "This is not a suicide mission and I know forming an alliance with her was dangerous. I'm not that crazy!"

Tristan's jaw locked tighter, a muscle fluttering with how tight he'd clamped it shut. He looked her over, clearly looking for some crack in her resolve and found none. His eyes narrowed and he scrutinized her. The effort it took him not to yell was clear when he spoke; "Then why the hell are you doing this?"

Ryanne didn't think that was worthy of a response. She just shook her head and walked past him.

Tristan's eyes followed his cousin, almost against his will. No matter how much he tried to block out the familial feelings he had for her, he never could, and as much as he'd like to think he didn't care what she did anymore, he couldn't fight the urge to watch out for her. And her move to take on a partnership with that shrimp of a girl who could hardly hold a knife up right bothered him. Tristan never could figure Ryanne out, but this newest endeavor seemed like pure insanity to him. He wondered if being Reaped and forced to go in against her cousin had unhinged her. Or maybe it was something else. "Is this about Briza?" he called after her. "Because she's not Briza and I don't think your sister would want you to throw your life away for a stranger."

When Ryanne turned to look at him, it occurred to him that maybe he'd gone a bit too far. Her eyes were red and tears were running down her face. "Of course its about Briza. But that's still not why I'm doing this."

"Then why?" Tristan demanded, his voice harder than ever.

Ryanne slammed a knife from the kitchen counter into the wood of a cutting board that was there in case they wanted to cook. It stuck, continuing to stand up right even after she removed her hand, but her eyes never left the glinting silver blade. "Because out of all 24 of us, only one is going to come out, and if it's not me or you, I want it to be her. Hell, I kind of want it to be her anyway." A sob choked off Ryanne's speech for a moment, but she turned to look at her cousin with bloodshot eyes. "She's the same age Briza was..."

Tristan closed his eyes to fend off the images that threatened to assault his mind at the mention. "I remember."

"She talks like her. She's smart."

Tristan took in a sharp breath. Ryanne looked subdued where she looked at the glinting metal of the knife. All this time, Ryanne had been on her own. It made sense that she would want to be with someone in her final moments, should they come. "Alright, Ry. Just... be careful."

Ryanne looked away from the metal of the knife at her cousin with a hunt of her old, evil grin. "You too."

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><p><strong>AN: Th-tha-that's all folks!**

**Hope you all enjoyed this, my newest installment. Please review and tell me what you think of the story so far - good or bad; I'm open to all sorts of comments. What was your favorite part? Are you anxious to see what I do with them once they're in the arena? Me too! I'm still a bit torn on the design of the arena, but that doesn't come up for a while.**

**Please, continue to read and review.**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
><strong>

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Still no reviews? You guys don't love me? :C**

Chapter 4: To See Sense

_"I tried to make them see with their hearts rather than their minds."_

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><p>Riven fell into a chair next to Lyria with a groan. "Alright, Lyr," he said, passing a paper that he'd been pouring over all morning, "if you're sure you want to do this, I will close the deal with Ryanne's mentor today. In the event that either of you die, the other will continue to have the support of your sponsors, unless they choose to pull their money." Riven gave the soon-to-be 11 year old a meaningful glance.<p>

Lyria returned the look before taking another piece of fruit from a little bowl in front of her and tossing it in the air. She leaned back a little and the melon ball landed softly in her little mouth. Lyria made a sound of contentment and waved him off, saying, "Close the deal."

Riven nodded. "Alright." He couldn't help thinking maybe he should be trying to talk her out of it or maybe make more of an effort to see just how sure about this whole alliance thing she was. After all, she'd approached him last night with the idea of teaming of with the District 7 girl and had only given a very short, rather unfeeling account of how she'd come to the conclusion that Ryanne Valour was her best choice for surivival. What was worse was that when he pressed for details, she shut down and said something about talking about it over training - which she'd also refused to talk about. Riven didn't know how to handle her moods and the way they changed. One moment, she could be a happy child and the next she was a wise young woman. "So what's your plan in training with Ryanne today?" he asked, hoping to get something out of her.

Lyria popped another melon ball into her mouth and shrugged. "Well, I spent a lot of time in survival, fire building and identifying edible plants yesterday so Ryanne suggested I get at least a little weapons training in beforehand. We're thinking knives."

That was more than he could have hoped for, based on how tight-lipped she'd been the night before. Riven nodded, secretly pleased that she was taking all of this seriously, but without panic. "Alright. That'd probably be your best bet, considering how slight you are. And it's always good to have a good offense to add to a defensive strategy. I suggest learning how to throw them because letting yourself within arm's length of any of your competitors would probably be unwise."

Lyria took this into consideration briefly, mulling it over in her head for a moment before nodded her consent. "That's true. If I'm close enough to strike with a little knife, they're close enough to break my little neck." She pushed back from her chair, and hopped off the slightly too high chair. "Thanks, Riven. See you after practice." She waved as she left the room and the only thing he could do was watch her leave with a sick feeling in his stomach.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Ryanne handed Lyria another knife. They'd been at this for hours, Lyria still couldn't hit the dummy any place vital and she couldn't feel her fingertips where they clasped onto the knife anymore. Nonetheless, she arced her arm back and then quickly flicked it forward, releasing the hilt. It flew threw the air straight, and with a whistling sound, but when it hit the target, the butt of the knife hit it first, so it rebounded and clattered onto the floor with a metallic ringing that reverberated inside Lyria's head, mocking her.

Lyria's thoughts weren't the only things mocking her - other tributes were laughing now. Only a few, more polite tributes seemed unconcerned by her small blunder, but others mocked her openly. 1 and 4 and even Aiden was snickering at her, as if he hadn't been horrified at the very idea of her competing a couple days beforehand. Now, her failure was a source of amusement.

Lyria turned bright red, hiding part of her face in a mass of red hair on instinct. Ryanne glared at their competitors contemptuously, taking note of just who was laughing. It wasn't a surprise to see the careers laughing or see that Tristan was not, but the others she had no clue about. The taller brunette moved with a cat-like grace toward the dummy that Lyria and she'd been practicing on for well over an hour now. She plucked the couple blades Lyria had managed to stick from the mock person and then the assortment of scattered knives that laid haphazardly around its base from her less successful attempts. She brought them back to the young girl who took one and tried again.

The knife clattered to the ground again and Lyria physically winced at the sound, hating it with every inch of her being. The laughter turned up a notch, though now the metallic sound of the knife against the floor overshadowed the inane human voices.

Jewel was sneering, marring her perfectly beautiful face with the ugly expression. "What's the matter?" the blond asked, taunting the younger tribute. "Too stupid to figure out which end of the knife is sharp?" This was met with another round of laughter that had Lyria blushing redder than her hair, making the freckles that flecked her face disappear in the absolute scarlet of her face. Hot tears pricked behind her eyes, but she didn't let them fall - just picked up another knife and made a blind throw. It went over the dummy and another metallic clattering had Lyria ready to quit and just go back to survival.

When she said as much to Ryanne, she was met with stern denial and another knife was pressed into her palm. This went on for a good half hour, her only renewal of hope being when she finally hit the dummy in the head, managing to make the blade stick.

It was right after this that a knife flew right in front of her face, just barely missing her nose, and embedded itself in the wall behind her. Lyria froze for a second, realizing what had just happened, an turned with a certain amount of reluctance toward the wall. The knife stuck solidly, the blade buried a good two inches into the wood. Lyria gulped, knowing that if she'd leaned forward ever so slightly, she could be missing a chunk of her face.

Lyria didn't have to look to know where it came from, but she did anyway. Ryanne was already glaring at the blond who had a mock innocent look on her face. "Oops," Jewel said, her voice dripping with candy-coated venom, "sorry."

She wasn't. Lyria knew it and Ryanne certainly knew it.

Jewel turned away from them, going back to what looked to be whip training. It wasn't surprising - only the most sadistic people used whips in the arena because they don't kill; they're just extremely painful.

Lyria didn't know what set Ryanne off after that - the fact that the girl had clearly been aiming for her or the fact that she continued to make disparaging remarks - but a few moments later, there was a sharp movement in the peripheral of Lyria's vision and she turned just in time to see Ryanne release the blade in the direction of Jewel, though she made it look like a freak accident. The blade flew straight and true, right past the nasty girl's face. She screamed and careened back, though if the knife had actually been meant to hit her, it would have been far too late. Jewel hit a weapons stand, making weapons rain around her, though none - unfortunately - even put a scratch on her.

Bron leaned down and offered Jewel a hand, clearly laughing at her. Jewel slapped his hand away and got up, looking livid. She made the slicing motion across her neck before stomping off.

Ryanne turned back to look at Lyria and winked conspiratorially. "Oops."

Tristan approached the two giggling girl's, though at the sight of him, Lyria quickly shut up and made herself scarce, which made Ryanne snort. Tristan looked at Ryanne, one eyebrow cocked. "That was really stupid and you let your temper get the best of you." Ryanne didn't even look slightly admonished as she shrugged with a cheeky smirk. He sighed and shook his head, but he smiled too. "Good shot," he complimented before going back to whatever station he had been working at before hand.

Lyria seemed to poof back into existence once he was gone, startling Ryanne. "Whose that?" the redhead asked, though she remembered his name. She was really asking about what was the relationship between the two of them.

"My cousin, Tristan Whitlock," Ryanne answered, quickly pulling a knife and pressing it into Lyria's palm, "now back to work, Little Red."

~Sacrificed With Love~

The next day, Lyria's shaky performance with the knife had improved to the point where she could easily stick a knife into the chest of a target, moving or stationary thanks to the help of one very brave trainer, but couldn't have hit someone in the head if her life depended on it. Ryanne pronounced her skill with the knife "good enough" and they went back to the other stations. Turned out, despite the red hair and freckles, Lyria was a master of disappearing.

"So what are you going to show them?" Ryanne asked as they waited to show their abilities. Bron had already gone in and Jewel was waiting to go next, meaning that it would be a very short time before it was Lyria's turn.

Lyria shrugged. "Knife throwing, maybe camouflage. Maybe that really elaborate knot I learned yesterday. I don't know. I was hoping it would come to me." Because Lyria had no idea what would impress them. If she could find a way to make her talent for dishonesty work for her, that would be great, but she wasn't sure if an opportunity for witty falsities would present itself. And if it did, it would probably be her best stroke of luck ever. "What are you going to do?" Lyria asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from her - the more she thought about it, the more she felt like she was going to fail miserably.

Ryanne quirked her lips to the side, as if she were thinking it over. Jewel was called in, though Lyria only noticed because of how close it was to her turn. "I guess I'll toss around an ax or two - try to impress with strength and accuracy."

"Well there goes my plan of copying you," Lyria joked.

Ryanne smiled a bit and jokingly shoved her. Aiden was called in, leaving Lyria to go next. She wasn't made to wait long. A mere couple of moments afterwards, they called her name and she was forced to leave Ryanne, who patted her on the back comfortingly before letting her go. "Make me proud," the older girl said with a grin, making Lyria feel very young and very much like a little sister.

Lyria was led into the gym area which now seemed large, unfeeling and solitary without the trainers and other tributes running about. What was left were the ever-present Gamemakers whose eyes followed her movements with a keenness that they'd lacked during actual training.

Lyria walked over to the weapons stand and picked up a handful of daggers and took her stance, facing the wooden wall that Jewel's knife had embedded itself in the day before. She threw the first knife and it stuck with a solid thunk in the wood which eased her fear of messing up a little and she continued. Lyria had no idea what possessed her to do it, but almost without realizing it, she'd begun to spell something out on the wall with the knives. She had to go back several times in order to grab more knives, but she was rather pleased with her product when she threw the last knife and it stuck.

"I'm too young to die," was spelled out clearly across the wall in glinting knives and Lyria turned to the Gamemakers.

"By a show of hands, how many of you have children?" she asked, though her tone was very adult and very demanding. At first, no one responded. "No, really, I want to know. How many of you have children?"

There was so much authority in her tone, some of the Gamemakers couldn't help but raise their hands. There were a couple parents among them, especially the women. Lyria made a big show of counting them, and when she'd finished, she nodded, looking thoughtful. "So a little less than half of you. Now, how many of you have children between the ages of 12 and 18?" she asked. Several hands went down, though a couple went up. "Uh-huh. Now how many of you have children under the age of 12?" The Gamemakers responded accordingly, some now just curious to see where she was going with this more than anything.

Lyria spotted one man who'd had his hand up for both between the ages of 12 and 18 and the under 12. "You sir," she said, locking eyes with him and pointing to him, just so there was no confusion. "How many children do you have?"

"Three," he answered.

"And what are there names and ages?" Lyria demanded to know. It was shocking, really, how much potency her mere tone contained and how it compelled you to listen.

The man, who was a bit bigger in stature with grey shades to his skin looked taken aback for a moment, not quite sure if he should provide this information or not, but her charm won out and he finally said, "My oldest is Reig; he's 17. My second child is Massia, she's 13. And then my youngest is 9 and his name is Hastings."

Lyria nodded and began pacing back and forth, looking as if she were contemplating the creation of the universe. "I'm going to assume you love all of your children, if I might sir." The man made a move to reply, but she held up a hand, stopping him. "That was rhetorical, sir. Now, how horrified would you be at the prospect of sending Hastings into the Games to fight for his life against 24 other hardened teenagers who are all reaching for the same goal - survival?" Lyria knew, being a Capitol resident, this fear had probably never crossed his mind; she was going to make them think about it.

The man's skin went from grey-toned to pallor white in a couple seconds. "I don't think I could take it."

"Do you feel the same for Massia and Reig who, at their current age, if they lived in one of the Districts would be up for being Reaped this very year?" Lyria asked of him, her voice getting harder and harder. Even other Gamemakers were starting to feel uneasy. "Because, I for one would think just because they're a little older doesn't mean you'd be ready to send them off to their deaths. Unless I'm completely misjudging your love, sir."

The man stood up, now looking a cross between horrified and livid. "Of course not! I love all my children! I wouldn't want to see any of them in the Games - ever!"

"SO WHY THE HELL ARE _WE DIFFERENT_?"

Lyria's yell rang around the room, sending all the Gamemakers into silence. It was clear she'd made some leeway into their minds - made them think about something outside their silly Capitol lives. Lyria took several deep breaths before saying, "I think I've made my point. I'd like to be excused, please."

One of the Gamemakers gave the go ahead for her to leave - she was gone before the last word had left his mouth.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Aiden felt really uncomfortable, sitting next to a sulking Lyria who looked as if she were ready to kill the nearest thing (ahem, him.) From the moment Lyria had come back to their quarters, she'd been all biting comments and vague answers about what had happened down in the gym with the Gamemakers. The only thing she'd said that Aiden could discern from her snarling was, "I tried to make them see with their hearts rather than their minds." And then she'd gone back to growling - literally growling - at people.

Aiden didn't think he could take being around her much longer, emotionally. She was exhausting! He didn't even want to imagine what it must be like, actually experiencing the emotional roller coaster she seemed to be stuck on at all times.

Lecks sat down next to the foul tempered red-head, handing her a bowl of what looked like something chocolate, which she grudgingly thanked him for and started on immediately. Aiden found himself feeling very sorry for the spoon if the sound of her teeth clanking against it was any indication to how hard she was biting it.

Riven was watching the girl with a mix of annoyance and fascination. She was in such a foul mood, but she refused to speak of what put her in this funk. She hadn't been ill tempered beforehand so he couldn't possibly have guess what had spoiled her mood.

The Capitol's symbol passed over the screen with the same little anthem they always played with official announcements. Lyria watched with a growl building up in her chest as Bron's face appeared on the screen, a broad 9 flashing under it, followed by Jewel, who'd managed only a 6. Lyria was expecting a low score, especially with how she ended her little tirade, but that didn't lessen the severity of her temper. It's true - there is no temper like that of a redhead. Aiden's face flashed up on the screen, displaying his 7 proudly.

Lyria's own smiling face appeared on screen, her hair arranged in ringlets, her teeth gleaming brightly. And underneath her picture flashed a 10, big as life.

Lyria mouth dropped open as Zoros congratulated her and Riven gave her a smug look. Aiden gaped at the young tribute, wondering just how in the hell someone so small had managed to score so high. It wasn't like she could show off her wits. His small advantage had been taken away. He was in her long-stretched shadow again.

They watched the rest of the tributes, Lyria noting some of the other tribute's scores. Ryanne had managed a 9, so perhaps the axes had been kind to her tougher persona. Her cousin, Tristan, had managed a 10, matching Lyria. The girl from 8 that had struck Lyria as intelligent before had only managed a 3.

Others who had managed to pull high scores included Cale, the girl from District 4, who managed to match Bron with a 9, and Marris, the boy from 12, had the highest score of all, managing to earn an 11. Lyria was surprised by how low the scores were for some. For instance, Teira, who Lyria had looked at as a threat right from the beginning had only managed a 5. Of course, these scores weren't a true indication at times - it was merely Gamemakers showing their favorites off to the rest of Panem.

Zoros looked especially pleased at news that Lyria had managed to score so highly. "My dear girl," the man started, looking like the Games had come early for him - all pre-packed and won. "Whatever went on in there to gain you such a high rating?"

Lyria merely smiled. "I appealed to their humanity."

Lecks patted her on the back and said, "Well, the hardest part's over for you." No one missed how he didn't include Aiden in this statement. "The next thing is the interviews and they're all smitten with you. I couldn't imagine how you could possibly mess those up. I think you're in excellent shape for the games." Now he spoke to them both. "Tomorrow, you have training. While I work with Aiden on content, Zoros will work with Lyria on the presentation. Then switch - Lyria will go work with Riven while Aiden works with Zoros." Lecks looked between the two tributes. "Is that clear?"

Both tributes nodded. Riven pulled Lyria aside to talk to her, though he was only able to gather that she'd tried talking to them, which never worked with Capitol people. They were so superfluous and could never understand the hardships that the Districts endured - even highly favored districts like 2.

Lyria was a very gentle soul in a long line of killers, but she still had a spirit - a spirit that inspired and seemed unbreakable, though the girl who housed it was very fragile. Riven couldn't help but see it and he knew Lecks had seen the same - perhaps even that silly man Zoros. He couldn't fathom how he should be the one to make it shine out, above all the other tributes.

The young redhead beckoned for him to lean down and she pecked him on the cheek before skipping off to her room. Again, she surprised him. How quickly her moods changed; how much she cared for others. Lyria was an amazing young girl who shone all by herself.

Lyria entered her room and headed straight toward her panoramic view window to gaze at the nightlife of the city. It never stopped down there, it seemed to her. By this time, people in her District would be settling down to go to bed, or off to go for a drink at the pub. But there were never parties this late at night; there were never massive celebrations that kept people in their homes awake well after a decent hour. She crossed her arms and watched thoughtfully, wondering what must be going through their minds and what life meant to people who had the luxury of taking it for granted.

It was late that night when Riven entered the room to check on her, just like he had the first night on the train and every night since, that he saw her curled up in the fetal position on the windowsill, an overly large shirt hiding her tiny form from the rest of the world. Her head was laid against the glass.

He couldn't bear to leave her there. Slowly, he crept across the room, so as not to rouse her. She didn't stir in the slightest. The strong District 2 tribute, who had at one point been known as a merciless killer, looked at her with gentility, and reached down to pick her up. He slipped one arm under her thin legs, the other cradling her back and lifted her easily - she couldn't have weighed more then seventy pounds. Lyria hummed a little, her head turning in her sleep to land against Riven's strong chest. He smiled and carried her towards the bed.

Riven drew back the covers and gently deposited the tiny form on the bed that could easily fit someone five times her size. Her curls fell in a mass behind her, framing her sweet face in a a fiery red and Riven couldn't help but thinking about this child's future. Die or return to District 2 and be alone again.

Perhaps those Gamemakers shouldn't be the only one's thinking with their hearts.

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><p><strong>AN: Hey guys! So Chapter 4 is finished!**

**I can't believe how quickly and constantly I've been able to keep updating. Maybe at this rate, I'll finish a story that's more than a one-shot.**

**Anyhow, please, please, please, please review! I've had virtually none so far and that makes Jassy sad! So please leave some sort of comments on your thoughts on this story. Do you like Lyria? Ryanne? What's been your favorite part so far? Let me know, please!**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,**  
><strong>Jassabella <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Yay! Reviews! My addiction is sated!**

**Thank you very much to my anonymous reviewers, too, whom I could not respond to. I appreciate your support as well.**

Chapter 5: Final Hours, Lasting Moments

_"Your life was never forfeit, not as long as you had any say, and the same is true now."_

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><p>Lyria had no idea how she ended up in her bed the next morning. She remembered looking out the window and then everything went blank and her dreams took over the forefront of her mind. But for the life of her, she couldn't remember getting up off the windowsill and going to lay in her bed. Not that it was a particular concern for her; just a curiosity.<p>

She got out of bed and dressed for the day, happy that training was over so she could forget about the damn suit they'd had her prancing around in. It was such a relief to be back in a dress. She'd chosen a blue number, much like the one from her Reaping, with white stockings and black shoes.

Lyria went to examine herself in the mirror. The showers here as well as all the treatments the prep-team had worked into her hair made her ringlets near perfect. All the dryness in her hair had ceased to be and a lush cascade of gorgeous, healthy hair, befitting a Capitol showgirl. It fell in red curls perfectly, unlike the red mass of waves and malformed curls it had been before this whole mess had began. It used to frizz horribly and now it seemed that not one hair would ever dare to be out of place. Lyria was amazed at the transformation. She still looked like a child but longer felt like one.

Perhaps that's what the Games is - growing up before you should have to.

Lyria briefly tried to imagine if they'd changed other things about her - like getting rid of the freckles that flecked her face and arms and darkening her hair. She found she was able to, but didn't like what she saw. What she saw when she imagined herself to have been altered by the Capitol was from another species entirely - and it wasn't Lyria. The intense jewel-tone eyes that marked her look were there, but everything else that made her into her own person was missing. Where were the freckles that her brother used to play find the picture with? They'd been banished from her features because the Capitol found them unsightly. Where was the slight golden sheen in her hair that lit up her hair like a torch in the sun? The same shade of amber as the gorgeous gem she'd be named for? Gone, replaced with a dark, blood-looking color that made her pale skin stand out as deathly white.

She wasn't dressed like herself either - in this image, gone was the little blue dress, replaced by a tightly fitting jumpsuit with gem accents. It hugged every little part of her greedily.

Lyria's imagined version of herself was so powerful, she could almost see it standing in the mirror, looking at her with eyes that seemed to have all life and vivacity stolen from their gorgeous depths. Her lips were painted the same crimson as her hair and her eyes rimmed thickly in black to "enhance their color" but it just made her look even more lifeless - washed out and dead.

Other signs of the Capitol's corruption showed on her skin. There were lines carved into her skin, depicting vines climbing up a wall. It was elegant, but gruesome when one thinks how those intricate engravings had made their way onto her skin.

A sharp rapping sound at her door startled her out of her reverie , the girl in the glass shattering. Lyria was breathing hard when she peered back into the mirror and found herself there, freckles and all. "Lyria," Riven's voice called through the door, bringing her attention back to the real world. "It's time to start your presentation training with Zoros. Come out so you can eat a bit before you start." Lyria vaguely heard something Zoros said in the background - something about her being tardy to lessons - but it was still Riven's voice on the other side of the door. "Come out, Lyr."

The little redhead nodded, slightly spooked by the image in the glass, but headed toward her door anyway. One last look into the mirror sent a shiver through her spine as the soulless Capitol Lyria stared at her.

Riven was waiting outside, along with Zoros and a plate of toast, orange juice and those little kiwi slices she'd found a liking for. Rather than waste time by eating in peace, Lyria was forced to listen to a lecture while she ate her breakfast, even required to answer questions every now and again. Riven seemed to be enjoying himself, with his legs propped up on a chair, munching on an apple and watching as her frustration with the Capitol man increased.

"Now, Lyria," her escort said in a tone that managed to make her hairs stand on end with annoyance, "your diction is great. Never a slurred word from your mouth! But you have some rather off vernacular..."

"You can't make her change how she talks," Riven said with a chuckle. "It's what makes her so endearing. You change that and you may as well say goodbye to about half her sponsors. If she starts talking like a Capitol bred princess everyone's going to forget her angle in the games - the helpless 10-year-old from District 2."

Zoros looked highly affronted, but didn't argue. "Fine," he seethed, "onto practicing your entrance, then."

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria couldn't even describe her relief when Zoros was called in to help Aiden and finally leave her alone. Who was he to try and teach her how to talk to a crowd? The entire 2nd District had managed to tune him out during the Reaping. Sure, he'd kept her entertained at first, entertaining her every fancy and whim. But it was only fun until she realized that he wasn't just playing along with some of her antics and that at times, he was very much at the same maturity level as she was. It was... a disturbing thought for her.

After that, she'd quickly grown tired of how superficial he was and how he seemed so intent on coddling her. You can't coddle someone whose about to have to fight - kill - for their lives. She much preferred Lecks and Riven who'd both been here at one point. They cared but didn't treat her like a baby.

Babies don't kill.

Lecks and Riven though... well, she could only make connections to them that seemed familial. She sometimes thought of Lecks as her grandfather, doting on her without taking away her dependability and Riven was like a really responsible older brother. The kind that promise to do their best to protect you no matter what, even when the situation is so out of their hands, its laughable. Lyria was attached, she knew, but that wasn't the problem. She would be leaving them soon.

Riven seemed intent of relaxing her for tonight. He kept doing really cheesy impressions of Caesar Flickerman that had her giggling madly between her answers. She'd noticed a slight demeanor change in him since yesterday. It didn't occur to her that it actually might matter until the smile slowly began to slip from his face and the questions grew from silly, superficial things like strange Capitol customs to her life back home.

Answering each question, once they reached the subject of her family, seemed an awful lot like sticking a knife into a partially healed wound to her. The only thing that eased her pain was that Riven didn't seem to be enjoying asking them - his tone was clipped and his posture ridged as he threw more and more shrapnel into the little wound in her heart that her family's departure had left. "Am I correct in saying that you were raised by your mother and father and had one brother who was eight years older than you?" Riven asked, sounding like someone was sitting on his chest. Lyria could relate.

Where the hell had they found that out? There was no documentation of her family ever existing; it had disappeared the same night they had. "Yes," she answered shortly, averting her eyes.

Riven's tone changed when he spoke again. It was gentler, like she was going to scare off if he spoke too harshly. "What will you do if you win? When you return home, what would be your plans?" Lyria looks up and can tell his genuinely curious about her answer. Lyria is curious, too. She's never thought about what she might do if she actually won - even after the possibility crossed her mind, it was still so distant...

Lyria shrugged her shoulders, the movement seeming to shake her entire frame. "I don't really know. I guess I'd return home, move into the Victor's village with the other four surviving District 2 members, take up one of the talents and... try to be happy. Try to forget about the Games."

"Would you consider being adopted by Riven Santana?"

Lyria's head whips up so sharp and fast that you could get whiplash just by watching her. She stares at the District 2 victor, a little less than 9 years her senior, and tries to discern what emotions flit behind the hard mask he has donned. He reads her expression as she tries to read his. She can't find the crack - the crack that will tell her that this is all some cruel joke or the crack that tells her that he's serious; that he really wants to become her caretaker. She's sure he can see the blatant shock and confusion written across her face. Finally, she swallows hard and says, "If he wants me, I'd like that."

There it was - the fissure in his hard exterior that she'd been looking for. Without knowing it, she'd opened it herself, days ago and widened it last night. But there it was, waiting for her. "He'd very much like that, Lyria."

Lyria doesn't run into his arms in some touching almost father/brother-daughter moment and he doesn't expect her to. Because the odds of her surviving are still 1 in 24. He'd already gotten far too attached to her for his liking, but as long as there was hope for her, he would be there every step of the way, taking care of her in any way she might need. If she won, he would be there to take her home. If she lost, he'd be there to miss her.

Lyria should have someone to miss her.

~Sacrificed With Love~

The prep team was no longer allowed to work on Lyria without the supervision of Tigris who was rather angry after one of the women had attempted to dye Lyria's hair when they were clearly instructed to leave her as she was. So the three women had worked nervously under the frightening feminine feline's stare. The one who'd attempted to dye her hair, Jenile - the one who'd said her freckles made her look dirty - jumped every single time Tigris made a move.

Finally, the stylist looked ready to shred the entire team and she'd dismissed them all with a snarl that sent Jenile and the one Lyria had never learned the name of running out of the room. However, before she could leave, Tigris called Atherial back to finish her hair. The young, pink-haired woman was by far the most tolerable of the three prep-team members and her experience with being made over was significantly improved. Then, with Tigris still sharply watching her every move, the pink haired woman leaned down to apply the barest amount of make-up to Lyria's face, merely to enhance her features, not override them. When she's finished, she gives Lyria a smile bright enough to make the sun look on in envy of her. "I hope I get to have the honor of prepping you for the final ceremony, Little Doll," she said sweetly before leaving the room with Tigris' thanks trailing behind her pretty form.

It was only after she left that the meaning truly sunk in for Lyria; Atherial was hoping for Lyria's victory. Tigris watched the girl with her own fondness as a slow smile spread across the child's face.

"Come on, Lyria. It's time for your dress."

The young redhead hopped off her low-backed prep chair, wearing nothing but a small smock to cover herself and followed Tigris into the next room with a smile, eager to see what Tigris had thought up for her interview... Only thing was she was blindfolded while Tigris dressed her, meaning she wasn't in a position to see it. She was vaguely aware of being told to step into it and the material brushing against her thighs as it slipped over them.

Tigris played puppeteer with Lyria's arms, slipping them into something that felt lacy and light and of a different consistency than the rest of the dress. Then she was sucking in as Tigris pulled the strings to her bodice, tying them tightly so they were like a second skin, clinging to Lyria's body with plush tendrils.

Tigris gently guided Lyria to the full body mirror that was kept in the room so she could see herself and removed the blindfold with a swish of her wrist.

Lyria was staring at someone else - someone ethereal and unreal and someone who couldn't be a gawky little girl from District 2 who'd been too lucky to die. This was a young woman, maybe fifteen years of age, with sharp features feathered with freckles. Each of her cheekbones looked higher, framing the sea-jewel eyes with their angles and the thin black liner that surrounded each orb setting off their color like a sunset sets off the sea. Her eyelids twinkled when she blinked, the little facets of the sparkles in the light grey shadow catching the light and letting it go, winking playfully. her hair was braided back around the crown of her head, black onyx flowers inlaid in the braids like a crown. A heart made of cut onyx hung around her neck from a delicate black ribbon to match.

Her entire dress was in black as well. The light lacy material that Lyria had noticed crawling over her skin before was in fact lace, beautifully designed to look like flowers climbing across her arms and chest and ending dramatically at her bust line. Now Lyria, while young, had begun to show some more womanly features and a couple curves. The material that clung to her torso emphasized the subtle curve of her waist and her still forming assets. At her hips, the tight material ended and belled out into a large skirt with so many layers that it would have been impossible to find Lyria's legs in them.

That's not Lyria in the glass. It's not Capitol Lyria, either. This is a Black Princess.

Tigris looks at the creature in front of her with pride as the child touches her own face, as if to see as if what was reflected was truly herself. The image in the glass touched her face and Lyria couldn't believe that such a magical woman could really be her. "Thank you, Tigris," she said, turning to the feminine feline. "I look-"

"Like a force to be reckoned with?" Tigris asked with a pleased purr to her tone.

Lyria's smile gleamed. "Exactly."

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria was led to a room where she and the rest of the tributes could watch whoever was being interviewed. She was the last one to arrive and she caught every eye. The careers, excepting Jewel, who looked murderous, gave her a once over and disregarded her, though the boy from Jewel's district gave her a nod. There was nothing wrong about the nod he gave her - it was respectful, a nod of recognition.

Ryanne pranced up to Lyria in a stunning red number, leaving a very stunned Tristan behind. Apparently, the stylists wanted the two to match because the suit he wore was black with a red dress shirt and a black tie. The high heels they'd put the District 7 girl in put her at another height level from Lyria completely. "Look at you," Ryanne said, sounding rather impressed. "If I didn't know better, Red, I'd think you were trying to outdo all the other girl tributes - myself included." She worked to look hurt, but only succeeding in managing to look slightly pouty.

Lyria nearly scoffed aloud; like she could ever be more beautiful than Ryanne. "You look great too, Ryanne."

Ryanne opened her mouth to say something else - about what, Lyria had no idea. They hadn't seen each other since that last day in training two days before. With how fast things happen in the Hunger Games, that's a fair bit of time to not be informed of your ally's movements. But before Ryanne could utter another syllable, Jewel was called to the stage as Caesar Flickerman appeared on stage, playing it up for the crowds. They asked that the tributes be quiet since sound could travel from where they were, so Ryanne offered a smile to the young woman and they sat back and watched.

Jewel might have actually managed to salvage some sponsors during her interview with Caesar - except the fact that he asked her opinion on Lyria. The way she froze on national television screamed her hate for the young girl and her plastic answer of, "She's perfectly lovely, but I don't think she should get any special treatment just because she's 'too young,'" was about as transparent as glass.

Her timer went off and the crowd was nearly dead - definitely not a good sign for the District 1 princess, and she knew it. She curtsied to the crowd, smiling graciously, but she cried and screamed in frustration, throwing the little flower that had been tied to her wrist on the ground when she'd gotten away from the cameras.

Bron rolled his eyes at her melodramatics and ran onto stage, milking the crowd as they burst into applause.

Lyria watched one of her greatest competitors as he wooed the crowd with an easy sense of humor with a dark edge. He wanted them to see the person he was with the killer intent behind it. It was a good strategy - get them to like him and then show them he had the mindset to win.

From across the room, Aiden watched her every move. He saw her eyes flicker at Bron's every move on the screen, he saw the way her brows creased at things that wouldn't make him blink twice. It was amazing, how deceptive even her presence was. On the outside, she was a little girl, too young to even be here. On the inside... it was impossible to tell. He couldn't decide if she was dangerous or harmless are some impossible combination of the two. Though, in that outfit, the mystery within was reflected. She looked more otherworldly creature than young woman. Perhaps she was a Reaper, here to bring them all to their final resting place. It would be poetic; fitting, even.

Bron's buzzer went off and he and Caesar shook hands. Lyria's name was called from the wings and she grabbed fistfuls of her skirt so she could walk up the stairs to the stage. The girl from District 7 leaned in to whisper something into her ear before she left. Whatever it was, it made Lyria smile. She walked toward the little wing as Caesar made her introduction on stage, Aiden watching her distrustfully all the time.

Lyria walked the little dark passage confidently, brushing past Bron as he returned to the little viewing space. He didn't make an attempt to mess up her hair like Lyria was sure Jewel would've or shove her forward faster like she knew Ryanne would have. He shrugged at her and raised a brow, as if daring her to do better. She narrowed her eyes a little at him, silently accepting his challenge. She picked up her pace to a light jog and practically burst onto the stage arena. There was screaming and bright lights and Lyria blindly kept moving forward, letting go of her skirts with one hand to wave at them.

It was disorienting, the lights and screams blinding her and deafening her, much like they had in the opening ceremony, so it was by pure luck that she found her way to the chair across from Caesar. His hand on her shoulder and his words guided her down into the chair, saving her from sort of debacle there.

"Lyria!" Caesar greeted, sounding highly enthusiastic. "Our youngest contestant... well, ever! You look wonderful tonight, my dear."

Lyria giggled humbly before responding in the best of her nature, "Oh, Caesar, I wish I could say the same, but I'm afraid the stage lights have made me a bit blind! I can't see past the lights that keep bursting in my line of vision. Though you do always manage to look magnificent, so I'm sure this year will be no exception."

Lyria could almost imagine the man puffing up at the comment and giving the audience a blinding grin as he announced to the world, "Oh, aren't you the sweetest! Sadly, I don't think I can hold a candle to how you're looking." The entire crowd roared as he laughed with a good nature. Lyria could imagine his smiling face. "So, Lyria. The golden stitching in your dress and the gold sparkles that are being thrown off everywhere from the lights right now, is that a play on your name?" he asked.

Lyria was thrown back, though if she could see herself now, she would know he was telling the truth. Earlier, before she'd been put in the absolutely blinding light of the stage, her dress had been completely black, but now, under the brights, golden threads swam up her bodice and through the lacing on her delicate shoulders and arms. Her skirts were covered with golden flecks that threw off glittering reflections everywhere.

Lyria, the precious gem for which the girl was named, had a golden-red tint, though it glowed like the sun when lit up by light.

Lyria tried to regain her footing and quickly replied with, "Oh, yes! Didn't you know? Lyria always glows its brightest from shadows. I'm sure my hair has taken on a similar quality, yes?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too surprised.

Her cover worked miraculously as Caesar responded, sounding astonished, "Well, now that you mention it, yes it has. That is absolutely magical!"

The entire crowd roared it's agreement and Lyria flashed a humble grin to them all. Her vision was starting to clear a bit, so she was careful to avoid looking into anymore lights and was able to see Caesar now as well as the shimmers on the floor that danced around with her every movement. Looking down at her sleeve, she was able to see the delicate golden lines that tapered around each flower stitched into the lace. Caesar was right - it was magical.

"So, Lyria," Caesar said, leaning in a little and placing his hand under his chin to prop his head up. From years of watching, she knew this was his pose for asking serious questions - possibly painful for the tribute - and mentally braced herself while trying to remain relaxed on the outside. "You were an orphan in District 2, yes? Your parents and your brother just up and disappeared one night about seven years ago?"

One thing could be said for Caesar and that was that he always knew how to phrase something - just how to say it - so that even the most painful topics become a little more bearable. Lyria had to swallow once before she could even think of answering. "Yes. Um, when I was four years old, I went to sleep one night. It was just like always. My brother sang me a lullaby, my mother kissed me goodnight and I could hear my father mumbling distractedly to himself downstairs. He wasn't quite well, you see, and sometimes his mind wandered and he couldn't keep things straight unless he said them aloud - sometimes not even then. I fell asleep and the next morning, when I woke up, they were gone." A lump had formed somewhere in the back of her throat, making it hard to talk, but she swallowed it and waited. The crowd was quiet, waiting with rapture.

Caesar looked sympathetic, and his eyes showed that he didn't really want to keep going on this one topic, but he had to. Lyria had never thought of any of these people who participated in the games every year - Caesar, Claudius, the escorts or the Gamemakers - as having legitimate pity for those who would only make the round once, but perhaps she was wrong. "And what did you do?"

Lyria raised her shoulders and dropped them quickly, shrugging as she attempted to quell the hot pressure of tears that were forming behind her eyes. "I didn't know what to do. I was four. I stayed inside, made myself breakfast and lunch and dinner as best I could without a fire, and didn't leave the house. I wasn't allowed to leave without my mom, dad or brother. It was nearly a week until someone realized something wasn't right. Peacekeepers barged in late one night while I sat in my daddy's old chair, humming his favorite tune and clutching my brother's favorite jacket. I didn't realize they'd left permanently. I thought they'd come back... but they didn't."

Lyria stopped for moment to take in a deep breath and was vaguely aware of the sounds of crying, but she forged on. "The Peacekeepers took me to the Justice building where it was decided that my parents and brother were traitors and I was too much of a liability to be put in an orphanage. I was given a small sum of money and a little house not even big enough for two people in order to keep myself alive. For a while, there was a woman who came by to help me with things like my wash and shopping, but eventually she stopped coming and I was left alone."

Caesar looked ready to start crying himself, though Lyria felt miraculously dry-eyed. "That must have been awful for you."

Lyria nodded a little. "Yeah, it was hard. The money wasn't enough to keep me clothed and fed, so I had to get a job at the age of six. I went to school and managed to get some pretty decent grades, though never any friends. And as for my parents and brother... They were never found." Lyria gave little laugh that sounded a little bitter, even to her. "Or, if they were, I was never told about it."

Lyria was sure that they had gone past the three minute mark. It felt like she'd been up their for an eternity, telling her story to a crowd full of strangers. But then, really, who else was there in the world for her, besides strangers?

"Truly amazing," Caesar said, managing to finally take things to a lighter note. "You are, really. And I love how bright you shine, despite how many shadows have been heaped upon your life, Lyria. You outdo your namesake with your shining personality, doesn't she?" Usually, Caesar is all about playing up the crowd, but he didn't have to, this time. The crowd roared to life with vivacity all on its own, nearly drowning out the buzzer as it finally sounded. Caesar stood and actually hugged her as she got up as well. "I think I speak for all of the Capitol when I say we wish you great luck in the arena."

"Thank you, Caesar," Lyria said with a bright grin, waving to the crowd one last time before she disappeared back into the viewing room.

Ryanne greeted her with a tight hug as Aiden glared at her back. She had begun to cry the second she was out of sight and she was now crying against Ryanne's bare shoulder. Aiden had never been less trustful of her.

Tristan noticed the hateful glare of the boy, just before he was ushered onto the stage for his own interview. Tristan briefly contemplated this show of contempt before turning his gaze back to Ryanne and Lyria. One of the Avox's had provided tissues and the little girl was wiping her eyes as she cried, looking helpless. Ryanne was gently wiping at her face and consoling her gently. Tristan wondered just what such a sad little child had done to deserve this - the hate, the sadness and the loneliness.

Ryanne soothed her tears and eventually calmed her down, but eventually, Lyria's mentor showed up - a guy who couldn't have been much older than Tristan was now - and escorted her upstairs so she could be left in peace. Tristan watched her leave, feeling fascinated by her and saddened for her.

Ryanne approached him, tears glassing up her own eyes. "I see what you mean," Tristan said with a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe it. She really was so much like Briza, it was astounding. But there was also something else there that drew his gaze. "Fine, Ry," he said. He couldn't believe what he was about to say but... "I'll help you protect her."

When Ryanne pounced on him to hug him, he could have sworn he heard ribs cracking.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria was standing in front of the giant window in the communal living area that connected all their rooms together. She stared down where the interviews were being hosted, but couldn't bring herself to turn her TV on in order to watch them. She was content to just stand there in the dark, a mug of hot chocolate held in her hands and watch the city from here forever, if it would've been allowed.

Lyria vaguely tried to calculate who was up to be interviewed now. Three minutes per interview, plus goodbyes and travel time and they don't actually start the timer until you're seated. She'd been up here for a little over an hour, so they'd probably be up to the eleventh district or so by now. She'd long missed Ryanne's interview, which was really the only one worth watching to her besides maybe Tristan's, who she still considered highly dangerous to her. She could still tune in to see Marris' interview - the boy from 12 who also seemed highly dangerous, and had managed to earn an 11 in training - but found she didn't have the energy for it.

She couldn't remember much of the day anymore. It seemed to be a jumbling of moments. Riven offering to adopt her if she survived, Atherial's comment about wanting to work on her for the Victory Ceremony, Tigris' unveiling of her dress, Caesar's pity, Ryanne's comfort. Everything else ran together in a blur.

Lyria was so entranced by the city below and her own thoughts that she didn't even hear Riven behind her. While she watched them, he watched her.

"You're stronger than any of them could possibly imagine. Your life was never forfeit, not as long as you had any say, and the same is true now." Riven's voice was so strong and confident and reassuring, Lyria almost believe him. She was on the precipice of believing that she was still strong, but for some reason, she couldn't take the plunge. Talking about her family had taken so much out of her.

Lyria's head cocked to the side contemplatively, still watching the city. "I wonder what their greatest worry is."

Riven shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I can't even comprehend their lives. Everything here is so simple, even the people." He eyed her back, analyzing her posture and how rigid her spine was. She was always so on guard and it had taken him this long to sense just how far those wards went. "What's your greatest worry, Lyria?"

Lyria wasn't staring at the Capitol anymore, but she didn't dare turn away from the window. She stared at her reflection in the glass. This reflection of her that didn't have any freckles. That had vines carved into her skin. That had hair the same color as blood. This reflection that smile was twisted sickly.

"My greatest worry isn't dying."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So... yay! Chapter 5 all finished and wrapped and with a nice little cherry - Lyria's past!**

**Let me know what you guys think! Do you like Ryanne and Tristan? Was Lyria's backstory interesting enough? Would you like to more? Cause there is so much more to know! But you'll have to wait and see!**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I find it somewhat odd that the more often I update, the less reviews I receive. :(**

**I also find it somewhat fucked up that I listened to Let the Bodies Hit the Floor multiple times while writing this. The title's pretty self explanatory, but I suggest listening to it.**

Chapter 6: When The Death-Toll Sounds

_"I guess I'll see you on the other side."_

* * *

><p>Lyria was in a state of silent, internal panic. From the moment Tigris came to rouse her, she hadn't been able to stop moving, which had posed a real predicament for Tigris as she tried to dress the girl. Not that it mattered how she dressed - the Capitol would be dressing her in a different outfit soon enough, so what was the point? However, Tigris didn't seem to yield to her point of view and was getting a little snappish with the now 11 year old.<p>

After she'd been cleaned and dressed and given a mild sedative - one that would wear off in about an hour - she was still jumping around like a wild person and you could tell that it wasn't amusing to Tigris. The esteemed stylist wasn't fond of children, usually, but until this moment, Lyria hadn't acted like a child, so they had gotten along fine. Now that she was springing around, acting her age, Tigris found herself a little annoyed. Not that she was ready to condemn the child's personality yet, but District 2 usually handed her strong, confident Career tributes who knew exactly what they were getting into when they had raised their hands to volunteer. She'd never had one so jumpy before.

Lyria was pacing when Tigris finally announced it was time for them to head to the roof. This time, the cat-like woman did smile a little when the sound of her voice had the small redhead jumping about four feet in the air and squeaking. Apparently, she'd been completely lost to the outside world.

There was no temper lash with Lyria, though, like some of her past tributes might have exhibited if she'd somehow managed to startle one of them. Lyria didn't yell or reprimand her for frightening her; just peered at her with eyes wide and sea-toned and nodded in a jerky motion that made her seem as if her neck had become off joint.

They were picked up by a hovercraft and Lyria was injected with her tracker which seemed to put her at a much higher level of jumpiness. Oh, and the mild sedative had now worn off so any calm she'd had while that had been in effect evaporated.

"Lyria," Tigris finally said, just as they touched down in order to go to the underground preparation room where she'd be dressed in her official outfit for the games. Her voice came out sharp and gravelly, like a warning growl and the effect was immediate; Lyria whipped to face her, though her leg shook uncontrollably. "You have got to calm down. If you're like this when you get into the arena, you're going to be easy pickings."

Lyria took one deep breath and nodded, very deliberately stilling her leg as she was instructed to stand and she and Tigris were led to the launch room.

In the launch room, there was a package that contained Lyria's clothes. Tigris had no say in what the girl would be wearing, which Lyria could tell bothered her when she opened the little parcel and found the plainest clothes possible. Tigris was all about statements and high fashion so the simple black pants with multiple sets of pockets running down the side were almost offensive to her, as were the leather, knee-high black boots. They were light-weight, good for running, decided Lyria, which was good, since that was probably going to be her best ability in the arena. Outrun, outlast. Her shirt was also light weight, grey with no sleeves, suggesting some heat and she had a jacket, suggesting they might be in for some severe weather changes.

Tigris finished dressing her with a string of mutters under her breath about how she would have designed the outfit. Tigris seemed to be particularly put off by the boots.

"Thank you, Tigris," Lyria said. It was soft and seemed belated, but was very full of gratitude. Lyria had been having quite the battle with her vocal chords in order to get it out, too. They'd locked up last night when she said her farewells to Riven and Lecks and she hadn't been able to utter a syllable since. "For everything."

Tigris made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a purr. "Don't thank me, you silly girl," she said, coming around to look at Lyria's face after tying off her hair. "It was my honor to work with you. But I have one more thing for you."

Lyria's smile turned to a look of confusion. What else could Tigris possibly do for her? "What?"

The feline feminine grinned widely, the stripes on her cheeks moving to accommodate the intimidating showing of teeth. "Close your eyes, Little Doll." Lyria eyed her before doing as instructed. Tigris pulled something from the hidden pocket in the dress she'd worn for today's events and quickly fastened it around Lyria's neck. Tigris then reached for a small, handheld mirror and held it up to her face. "Open."

Lyria's lavender-tinted eyelids fluttered open, revealing her eyes as they focused on her reflection. Her eyes trailed down to where she'd felt Tigris tie something around her neck and found the same necklace she'd been wearing the night before, at the interviews.

She'd been unable to see it last night and Caesar hadn't brought it up - in fact, she'd basically forgotten all about that little accessory - but the black ribbon that held the onyx to her neck was embroidered with beautiful red-tinted gold thread that shined in the light and hid in the dark. The lights in the room were bright enough to make it show itself. And hanging from the ribbon was the little onyx heart, gently laid on her sternum and boldly displaying her name on it's face in the same shade as the thread and the same shade for the gem after which she was named. Lyria grasped at it with her hand, touched and overwhelmed by the gesture. "How?" she asked.

"Lumina rock," Tigris replied, "tinted to reflect the same shade as Lyria when the light is bright enough."

Lyria nodded in understanding. Lumina rock and the Lyria gem had been discovered about the same time. Lyria was a precious gem, very hard to get a hold of now and very beautiful. But Lumina rock was a sort of gem that looked like an ordinary rock unless it was in direct light where it would shine silvery with slight reflections of other colors in the mix. After the dark times, they'd done some experimenting with Lumina rock and found it was really easy to alter the color of the reflection. "Thank you, Tigris. It's gorgeous."

"Silly girl," Tigris muttered to herself as she shook her head and put the mirror down, but she was smiling.

A mechanical, nasal voice came over a speaker, announcing that it was time to be launched. Something seized up inside of Lyria with a vengeance. Panic and calm warred within her, but a placid smile made it's way onto her face and she took a deep, soothing breath. "I guess I'll see you on the other side," Lyria said, giving the woman a hug.

Tigris returned the hug, not really sure what the girl meant by this statement. Did she mean when she won? Or something else? Tigris didn't even have time to ask before the girl had pulled away with a smile and walked toward the small platform.

The glass slid into place around her and she waved as she was lifted up and away from her stylist and the rest of the world.

Lyria's heartbeat was erratic but her expression remained calm and her breathing was steady as she passed through darkness of the tunnel, waiting to see what she would be faced with. She could only hope that the odds were in her favor just this once.

Lyria expected blinding light, but it never came. As she approached ground level, her platform slowed, the glass around her disappeared, but the lighting only improved a little. The disk she was standing on ground to a halt on open ground, though it was dark. Looking up, stars dotted the sky - it was nighttime. Lyria had never seen a Hunger Games start off in the dark. It was different. Looking around, she could barely make out other tributes on their platforms. On her left was the male tribute from 11 that had first struck Lyria as a threat when she watched his reaping. She thought his name might be Kaiz and on her right was the female tribute from 4 - Cale. Possibly even worse if she was in an alliance with Jewel, who probably wanted her dead.

The countdown had begun.

60... 59... 58...

Lyria began looking around at the other tributes, trying to see if she could find Ryanne. They were all about 100 feet away from the large pile of supplies, weapons and food. The Cornucopia completely blocked her sight from about four of the tributes, which was probably the reason she couldn't find Jewel among the twenty-four, though she did manage to spot both Ryanne and Elsie, the jumpy girl from 8. Ryanne had spotted her too and jerked her head back, showing that she wanted Lyria to run away from the Cornucopia.

52... 51... 50...

Lyria began to look around the weapons the Cornucopia had to offer and was astonished to see a set of two knives and a belt to sheath them lying about twenty feet in front of her as well as a black pack that could contain just about anything ten feet farther. If she could just make it there before anyone could catch up to her...

Lyria turned to watch the others again and saw that Tristan was standing five platforms away, looking directly at her. His lips were drawn together in a straight line and his jaw was locked. Freaking hell! What had she done to deserve _his_ malice?

Great, now not only would she have to worry about anyone who teamed up with Jewel, she had to worry about the handsome buff guy from seven who apparently had it out for her for no reason. Flipping fabulous. Lyria could feel her vocal chords locking up again and knew she wouldn't be saying anything for the next couple hours - if she even made it that long.

46... 45... 44...

Lyria deliberately turned her gaze away from Tristan's and took in other players. Some looked just about as she felt. The girl from District 9 seemed about ready to bolt right then. If it wasn't for the mines around their platforms that they stood on, she probably would have by now. Her hands twitched, drumming a steady pattern into her leg.

Lyria noticed her own hands shaking a little as well and purposefully pressed them to her legs to stop it. She was fine. She could make it. And miraculously, with these simple thoughts, she began to relax and her vocal chords began to unlock themselves.

She could get to those knives before anyone else. She could get that pack - anything would be better than nothing.

The only problem would be getting out.

37... 36... 35...

Lyria noticed how melodic the voice sounding the countdown was. Sure, it wasn't a pleasant sound - they were practically counting down to the moment they'd all be free to die, after all - but it sort of sounded like some odd song. The only thing missing was the music. No one else seemed to share her thoughts about this - they were all staring eagerly at the weapons that awaited them or watching the competition, sizing them up, trying to figure out their plans for the Cornucopia.

Lyria began to hum low on her breath, barely loud enough for those on either side to hear, creating a tune for the numbers to float on. The District 11 male's dark eyes found her and looked at her with confusion before shaking himself out of it and turning his attention back to the Cornucopia.

Lyria unconsciously had begun the melody of an old song from her District called _Reaper, Reaper_.

_"Reaper, reaper_  
><em>Hear the sound<em>  
><em>Come collect the<em>  
><em>Souls I've found.<em>

_Hear the toll,_  
><em>The clock strikes two<em>  
><em>The time to collect<em>  
><em>Long overdue.<em>

_Reaper, Reaper_  
><em>Hear my song<em>  
><em>I collect for you<em>  
><em>But it feels so wrong.<em>

_What have I done?_  
><em>What shall I do?<em>  
><em>Reaper, I'm done<em>  
><em>Collecting souls for you."<em>

10... 9... 8...

There was a loud explosion off to Lyria's left and series of gasps and even some shouting. Lyria looked and saw that seven platforms to her right, Ryanne stared in horror at the platform next to her where the remains of the girl from District 12, Teira, were now lying. There were flames and pieces of ground were tossed everywhere. And there was blood. Puddles and puddles of blood.

Lyria looked away from the sad remains of the girl. She'd stepped off too early or perhaps she'd fallen or something else entirely, but there was absolutely nothing Lyria could do for the girl now. It was too late; she was gone. Perhaps she was better off than the rest of them. At least she'd gone quickly.

Lyria could only think of how the Capitol people were reacting to this. Were they thrilled? Saddened? Distraught that someone had gone without an exciting fight to the death or battle of wits or a particularly cunning sneak attack? Did they care at all? What about her Sponsors? Were they already moving on, trying to sign on with another tribute to keep their favorites in the game? What about her family back home? Surely someone must be crying at the sight of her remains.

Lyria sighs to herself and thinks the most positive thing she can manage: _Well at least that's one I don't have to kill._

4...

"Reaper, Reaper," she whispers softly.

3...

She tensed and got ready to spring off the platform towards those knives. Her muscles twitched in anticipation of the movement, her brain already charting out a course for her body. She'd dive for the knives directly and then for the pack and hopefully avoid anyone springing on her back while its turned.

2...

"I'm done collecting souls for you."

1.

Lyria's legs sprang forward at the same exact instant as the gong rings out and split second before Kaiz. She easily dashes in front of him though and she can hear his feet beating against the ground at about half the speed hers are. She can't even hear the girl's so she's hoping that Cale's veered in a different direction entirely. Maybe she was smart and made a run for it. The sounds of feet coming towards Lyria sort of make her wish she'd made the same wise decision.

Lyria doesn't dare look back to see how close anyone is. The most important thing is keeping an eye on those weapons, seeing who retrieves one and making sure you stay out of their throwing/shooting/slashing range.

Lyria's about five feet away from the knives before anyone else is even near a weapon, so when she swoops down to get it, and feels the leather of the belt wrapped in her fingers, she feels pretty confident that running for them was a good idea after all. If it doesn't get her killed, this ruling on her judgement will stand. If it does... well, there's nothing she'll be able to do about it by then, yeah?

The redhead's hand tightens around the leather strap, glad to see that the two knives are strapped into it so they won't fall out and begins the last ten feet towards the black pack with new vigor.

Unfortunately, she didn't see one of the sleeping bags that was hiding in the grass a few feet away from it and stumbled, falling to the ground. Her jaw hits the terrain, her teeth clack together painfully and she lets out a groan before pushing herself up on her hands and knees and beginning to crawl the rest of the way for the pack. Quickly, yes, but not as quick as she would have been on foot or as the feet approaching behind her.

She grabs onto the strap of the pack and turns to look at her surroundings when she spots Kaiz about a foot away, beginning to slow. He's not smiling, but there's a gleam in his eye that tells her he's not there to help her out.

He stops right in front of her, towering over her tiny frame. "Sorry, 2," he says, though Lyria is sure he doesn't mean it.

Lyria shuts her eyes, knowing she has no chance of escaping with him right there. She doesn't want to see his hands coming for her neck; either to snap it slowly squeeze the life out of her. She hopes he snaps it. She hopes he doesn't want her to suffer. She hopes he's merciful.

There's an incredible sound of someone roaring close by, followed by the sound of two solid objects colliding and all of a sudden, Lyria can't feel Kaiz's presence anymore. She opens one eye to see him, but where he'd been standing before was miraculously empty and she was still breathing and in one piece. Lyria wasn't about to waste a chance at life and scrambled up with the pack in hand, looking about her. She spotted Kaiz and Tristan, of all people, on top of him, appearing to wrestle on the ground.

Tristan had managed to get the upper hand when he'd tackled him off of Lyria and was currently laying his fist into Kaiz's face over and over again. Kaiz was bigger and he was trying to fight Tristan off, but Tristan had better leverage, better positioning and a mean right hook.

All of a sudden, Tristan leaped up and slammed his booted foot into Kaiz's face; Lyria heard the crack.

Lyria's frozen to her spot, looking at Kaiz's face with horror as blood slowly trickles down the side of his mouth and pours from his nose, which Tristan has completely crushed into his skull. He's dead and Lyria knows it without looking into those cold black eyes that had eyed her like a piece of meat just moments before. They're still open and they aren't looking at anything now. Lyria clutches the pack to her chest, trying to comfort herself. She's had people leave her, she's seen people mourn over people dying, but never had she actually seen a dead body before, let alone one that had been alive less than a minute ago.

Tristan turned around on heel, looking angry. "What are you standing there for?" he demanded angrily, starting towards her. "Go!"

Lyria couldn't understand him. Her mind was a garbled mess and his words didn't register right. They sounded slow and distorted and beyond recognition. She didn't realize he'd just saved her. What she knew was that he'd just killed someone else and now he was walking towards her.

Lyria turned on heel, ran and ran fast. She saw Ryanne waiting for her at the edge of the treeline and headed towards her. Taking a quick glance around, she saw that no one hung around on the edges of the supply pile and that anyone who hadn't already run in the opposite direction was converging on the center and that it was bloodying up quickly. She saw people falling left and right. But no one was anywhere near her and there were supplies littering the ground everywhere.

Lyria paused to unzip the pack and threw the knives in there before leaning down and picking up a canteen that sloshed full of liquid in her hand. She put that in the pack as well as a package of dried fruit and another package of dried jerky. It was a good base line to start on - having a little food and drink while they learned the environment and exactly what they were contending with here.

Ryanne had apparently gotten the same idea when she saw that there was no one anywhere close to her and had began to grab a few supplies herself.

Lyria glanced up towards the Cornucopia in order to see if anyone had caught sight of her yet and to try and gague how many people were still in the Games. There were still quite a few scuffling around the mouth of the Cornucopia. Tristan had disappeared from sight completely and Lyria had the distinct feeling he was hiding in those hills opposite the forest Lyria and Ryanne were probably going to be taking refuge in for tonight. Glancing back to the center of the fighting, she tried to catch sight of who was still breathing. Marris and Bron were fighting and Jansen was plundering something from a nearby crate. Both District 10 tributes were still up and about.

Jewel was looking at something in her hands when Lyria spotted someone creeping up behind her. It was the girl from 3 who Lyria had never paid much attention to and if malicious intent could be read from 90 feet off, it was her's. Lyria was half caught between yelling at her to run and just turning around and running in the opposite direction.

Neither happened. The girl suddenly sprung up on Jewel and with one long sweep of the sword in her hand, Jewel's head was rolling on the ground. Lyria was struck with the urge to vomit violently, despite the fact that one of her biggest enemies was now no longer a threat to her.

Ryanne had reached the treeline again and was motioning for Lyria to follow. Lyria didn't hesitate. Jewel's eyes were staring at her.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Several hours later, it was still dark and temperatures were starting to drop a little. Luckily for them, one of the things Ryanne had picked up happened to be a thermal blanket, plus the fact they were both wearing jackets. They hadn't bothered to set up camp because a campfire would attract attention and sleeping didn't even seem plausible right now, let alone like a good idea.

Lyria was watching Ryanne go through the things they'd picked up from the floor and sort them in the backpack. They'd managed to get quite a bit of food with their combined efforts and feasted on jerky and biscuits and a couple greens that Ryanne had gathered from around the campsite. Ryanne placed the blanket in the bottom of the bag and everything else on top of it. For whatever reason, the backpack had contained a mirror so Lyria knew she didn't just feel like crap; she looked it too! A nice string of bruises were forming around where she'd knocked her jaw against the ground when she fell.

She was rubbing at her jaw sorely when Ryanne finally decided she was done being nice. "Good thing Tristan decided to save your stupid self, otherwise you'd have a lot worse. Though maybe strangulation marks might flatter you..."

Lyria sighed. She knew Ryanne was a little irked that she'd been ignored and that Lyria had gone for the knives and pack but she couldn't see what the point in complaining and making snide remarks about it was. They were both living - no matter how close that had been to not happening - and they'd made off like Hunger Games queens. They had two full canteens plus an empty one! That kind of thing never happened unless you were a Career.

"If that's a remark about wanting to strangle me," Lyria started, scuffing the forest floor with the heel of her boot, "you might have to wait in line."

Ryanne scoffed, like that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "I don't have to wait in line - I'm your partner in crime right now. If anyone gets to off you, at this very moment, seeing as how I have the most direct access, it will be me. I have dibs," she declared with mock authority.

Lyria laughed. "Glad to know my life is in such capable hands."

Ryanne ignored this jab and began to look through their stuff again when she spotted something a little out of the ordinary. "The hell?" she muttered quietly to herself as she picked it up. Lyria watched her fiddle with it with fascination, though Ryanne's hands blocked it from Lyria's sight. "I don't believe it," Ryanne breathed with a laugh, whatever was in her hand making a little clicking noise. Ryanne let it drop out of her hand so that Lyria could see, but held onto it with a little golden chain. "They gave us a pocket watch. A pocket watch!" Both girls broke out into giggles.

"So now we know just how many hours of whats left of our lives go down the drain," Lyria said sarcastically.

Ryanne checked the watch. "Looks like about 8 so far," she observed, flashing it in Lyria's direction so she could see. It was a little past midnight "Congratulations, Lyria. You didn't die on your birthday!"

Lyria rolled her eyes derisively just as a light appeared above their heads and the anthem began to play. Lyria and Ryanne had purposefully chosen a small clearing with a gap in the tree tops just so they could see who all was dead. They'd heard the cannon go off quite a few times, but in the rush to get away from the other tributes, it had become a little difficult to keep track of just how many times.

A moment later, Jewel's face replaced the emblem of Panem. No sight of Bron so he clearly hadn't died in his battle with Marris. Aiden's face was also absent which was both relieving and sickening to Lyria. Ever since training, she'd been getting bad vibes from him and that's not including all the dirty looks she'd caught him giving her. She didn't remember saying or doing anything to irritate him. In fact, she'd been coasting pretty well, managing not to make anyone dislike her except for Jewel. And apparently Aiden.

District 3 had lost its male tribute, though the girl who'd decapitated Jewel remained in the game. Neither Jansen or Cale's pictures came up so that meant District 4 still had both their tributes. District 5 had lost both of it's tributes, the girl's gentle face being followed by the boy's angry one. Lyria was brought back to his Reaping for a moment and remembered how he'd scowled at the camera, silently blaming them all.

After District 5's two lost tributes, the girl from 6 appeared in the sky. The boy from her district, the 14 year old, did not make an appearance that night, meaning he was still about. Tristan's face was also bypassed so he'd managed to make it away after saving her life and consequently killing Kaiz. Lyria had mixed feelings about that - happy that he hadn't died saving her and that Ryanne hadn't lost her cousin yet, but scared because someone who could and would kill her with his bare hands was still alive.

The two from 8 had apparently made it out unscathed as well since the next face to appear in the sky was the boy from 9. The two from 10 that Lyria had seen at the Cornucopia had also apparently survived the experience.

A dark skinned girl's face lit up the night sky, her full lips set in a neutral line and her eyes looking dead, seeing nothing. Kaiz face followed hers with a scowl, silently accusing them all for their death and District 11 had lost both their tributes. Teira's face followed and Lyria felt a certain pity for her. According to Ryanne, who'd been on the platform beside hers, she'd fainted and fallen forwards, onto the mines. Marris' face did not follow, but the emblem, surprising Lyria. Obviously, something had interrupted his fight with Bron because both were still alive. Lyria hoped they hadn't teamed up.

So Jewel, the boy from 3, both tributes from 5, the girl from 6, the boy from 9, Kaiz and the girl from 11 and Teira. That was nine dead, which was an unusually small amount of death for the bloodbath. With nine dead, that left fifteen in the games. Discounting herself and Ryanne, that left 13 people to worry about.

"Happy birthday to me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Believe it or not, I wrote this all in one day! A mere two days after I posted the last one, but I waited to post it to see if I would get any more reviews first. Sadly, I didn't.**

**But whatever! I'm writing this for myself as much as I am for you. But please, for the love of Lyria, tell me what you think! You're starving me by not reviewing! Tell me your opinions of the characters. Make guesses on what's going to happen in the future! Suggest things you'd like to see in the plot-line! Please, just review. Jassy will beg on her hands and knees!**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
><strong>

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Great thanks to AnneSilverfire who has reviewed for almost every chapter. People who take their time out to let me know their opinions are what make this all worth while.**

Chapter 7: Perils of the Game

_"As of today, bunnies and puppies are officially nightmare material!"_

* * *

><p>Lyria had nodded off sometime in the night, probably closer to two than three and woke up... still in the dark. Can we say annoying? Checking the pocket watch which Ryanne had given to her for safekeeping, Lyria confirmed that it was a little after eight in the morning. In other words, much too early for her to wake up naturally if she'd gone to bed at two, meaning something had woken her up.<p>

Ryanne was sound asleep across from her, wrapped in her jacket like it was a cocoon with the pack already on her back for the convenience of getting up and running without having to grab for the bag. It had its merits and it's flaws, like any plan. Flaw, it would slow her down. Merit, can't forget the supplies.

Lyria sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and listening. Lyria wasn't a particularly light sleeper so a sound loud enough to wake her was probably something to be concerned about out here. She didn't have to wait long - a piercing scream split the air. Birds flew off, animals scattered and Lyria jumped out of her skin. Her vocal chords locked up again in her fright, making it easy not to scream, thankfully. She jumped to her feet with cat-like grace and dashed over to Ryanne's sleeping form and started shaking her.

Ryanne mumbled a little, swatting at Lyria before turning over with a groan. Lyria rolled her eyes and shook her again.

Ryanne sat up suddenly and glared at Lyria harshly. Ryanne's hair, which had been kept down, was everywhere; plastered to her face, sticking out at awkward angles and in front of her eyes. "What the hell do you want?" she demanded grouchily, obviously not amused with being woken up. Suddenly, not being able to speak became a real hindrance.

Luckily for Lyria, at that moment, a loud roar sounded, punctuating the slight panic on her face. Ryanne's eyes widened to an almost comical size before she was scrambling to get to her feet and Lyria was gathering up anything that might leave traces of where they'd been.

Lyria vaguely wondered if a scream or roar had been what woke her.

The cannon shot and continuation of screams rendered this thought as insignificant. The two girls looked at each other and in a moment of clairvoyance or understanding - or possibly a combination of the two - both nodded once and took off running in the opposite direction of the screams. The female voice abruptly cut off and another two cannon shots went off. Three dead. Exactly half were left. But which three? There was no way to know and there was no way Lyria was going back to check the bodies. For one, they were probably already gone, taken back by the Capitol, and if not... Well, back in that direction was either a very vocally talented tribute who'd just killed three people or a very hungry wild beast that had just killed three people. Lyria didn't know which option sounded better, but she was betting it was the latter.

After about ten solid minutes of running, the pack had begun to hurt Ryanne's back so they slowed their pace and began looking for some place where they wouldn't have to watch their back as much. A cave or something would be nice, but then they trap themselves and if whatever gets in there with them outmatches them in skill, they'd be screwed.

They stopped for a moment to dig out some jerky and a little bit of their dried fruit to replenish their strength and take a sip of the juice that Ryanne had found during her scavenging. Feeling adequately rejuvenated, they continued.

A weird rustling stopped Lyria in her tracks. Ryanne hadn't heard it and looked at Lyria curiously; to Ryanne, Lyria looked like she was just staring at a bush. Ryanne was about to say as much, but Lyria put a finger to her lips - she still couldn't talk. Ryanne's mouth shut quickly, seeing how serious Lyria's face had become. Lyria took a step forward, still looking into the foliage, trying to see what was making the sound and determine if they should be running like hell or not.

A moment later, her question was answered as a girl came sprinting through the bushes, a bow and arrows slung over her shoulder, but spotting them, she came to a dead stop. Lyria stared at her and she stared back. This was the girl from District 9. She'd never struck Lyria as much of a threat. She was complacent at her Reaping, not highly aggressive toward others during training, had earned a 6 from the Gamemakers during her session. She was pretty enough, but no knockout like Jewel had been or an exotic beauty like the girl from 11 who'd died last night, so she probably wasn't too highly sought after by sponsors unless she'd made an impression during her interview. She still wasn't a threat - she'd yet to even try to retrieve the bow slung over her shoulder while Lyria had a hand resting on the hilt of her knife from the moment she'd heard her coming.

The girl stared at Lyria with doe eyes and Lyria had no idea how to respond. Lyria wasn't the type for senseless killing and this girl didn't seem to want to attack them. Maybe they should just let her go.

There was the sound of a stick snapping and the girl's stare broke as she turned to look at whatever had made the sound. Lyria followed suit about a half second after and found herself staring at what was possibly the most terrifying thing in this world. Standing in the treeline were several odd looking muttations - they looked like a cross between a dog and a rabbit - all with red eyes locked on the three of them.

The District 9 girl made a squeaking noise in the back of her throat and turned the opposite direction and bolted back into the trees. The bunny heads barked viciously and two of them took off chasing her while the remaining three turned their attentions to Lyria and Ryanne.

Ryanne muttered something obscene before a series of growls sounded and the mutts lunged at them. Both girls were out of there before the mutts managed to get three feet from where they'd started. Unfortunately, the pack was weighing Ryanne down, those things were fast and they could freaking jump like rabbits, meaning that while Ryanne and Lyria were scrambling to get over any obstacles in their path, those things were just gliding over them, graceful as swans.

Lyria caught glimpses of blood matting their fur around their mouths and paws and urged herself to go a little faster.

Another scream cut the air around them and Lyria knew that she should have just killed the girl from District 9. It would have been an act of mercy compared to what was happening to her now. The scream, a high screech that clawed against Lyria's eardrums and into her brain, overshadowing her thoughts, lasted for several minutes before it finally cut off. It was that moment that Lyria turned around to face them and threw her knife.

It hit solidly, lodging itself in the skull of the mutt she'd aimed for. The mutt dropped to the ground almost instantly, leaving two more. One lunged at Lyria and the other ran after Ryanne who was still running like hell. Lyria waited for it to get a little closer, for it to jump at her, and ducked at the last second.

The dog/rabbit hybrid rocketed right over her head at high speed, impaling itself on the knife she held above her head and consequently slicing its chest open. The dog's body rained blood down onto Lyria as it fell to the floor, organs spilling out of it everywhere on the ground, blood falling from its mouth like a waterfall. Lyria stood, covered in sticky, thick crimson and feeling a bit sick at the sight of the mutt's intestines sprawled across the forest floor. Her eyes searched for and found where Ryanne was still running from her mutt and after grabbing the other knife that had still been embedded in the mutt's skull, Lyria took off after the two.

Blood covered every inch of Lyria's person and kept dripping into her eyes, making it very difficult to see. Lyria had become very good with knife throwing in the two days she'd had to practice it. Not perfect, no, but she threw knives like she'd been doing it for years. Ryanne had jokingly accused her of underplaying her knife throwing skill in the beginning to throw other contestants. But she was good - a natural - and could usually hit anything human-sized or larger with ease, even if it wasn't a fatal blow. However, when she threw her first knife, it skirted off the mutt's shoulder blade and fell to the ground.

Lyria had also made the mutt majorly mad.

It lunged forward and knocked Ryanne to the ground. Lyria couldn't see what the mutt was doing but the sound of Ryanne yelling in pain signified that whatever it was wasn't good. Lyria stopped and picked up a good sized rock on the ground and tossed it, hitting the mutt on its flank.

The mutt lifted its head from where Ryanne was lying on the ground and looked back at Lyria, obviously enraged at having its meal interrupted. It's red eyes locked on Lyria's tiny form and it began to bound toward her in long, loping strides. Looking into it's crimson eyes, Lyria felt an odd sort of calm sweep through her body. The tenseness in her muscles faded and her vocal chords unlocked. And with an inexplicable, yet undeniable inner certainty, Lyria released the blade into the air.

The final mutt fell to the ground, whimpering, Lyria's knife sticking out of it's chest, blood pouring from the would rapidly. Lyria jolted forward without really meaning to, going to the body and pulling her knife out from the creature's chest and then going to retrieve the one that had skirted off it's body.

Ryanne pushed herself up, off the forest floor, grunting and Lyria saw that the mutt had bitten into her arm and attempted to tear it off, judging by the way the teeth marks stretched. Quite a bit of blood trickled out of each tooth mark and Lyria could see the slobber that remained. They had to find somewhere to clean that and something to bandage it with.

Ryanne tenderly touched the wound and nearly growled in pain. "Ow!" she exclaimed, rocking back and forth and grabbing a part of the arm that wasn't shredded. "Who the hell sets mutts this early in the games?" she demanded to know.

Lyria shrugged. "Welcome to the twisted world of Gamemakers."

Ryanne made a hissing sound as she attempted to get herself up and off the ground. A string of muttered curses that Lyria wasn't entirely sure were all in English followed as she attempted it again. "Yeah, well those sick bastards ruin everything! I mean, a mutt made out of bunnies? As of today, bunnies and puppies are officially nightmare material!"

Lyria only realized she was probably in a little bit of shock after she started laughing hysterically.

~Sacrificed With Love~

"You know, I think this is kind of messed up," Lyria said after righting herself from slight stumble. "I saved your life. I shouldn't have to be your crutch and pack mule."

Lyria was currently carrying the very heavy pack on her back and supporting the left side of Ryanne's body because apparently the bunny/dog mutt had stepped on her ankle in it's haste to eat her alive. Thanks to a wonderful contribution by one of their sponsors, they had bandages and antiseptic for the bite wound, but sadly, there was nothing to be done with a half crushed ankle.

Ryanne was grouchy and hot as her body attempted to fight off infection, not to mention finding out that her jacket had been rendered useless put her in a pretty foul mood. "You're the one who let this happen in the first place. Mush, Red!"

Lyria grumbled, thinking about just dropping her on the ground and setting up a campsite. They'd been walking - or in Ryanne's case, hobbling - for hours, and Lyria was so exhausted, she wasn't sure she was still alive anymore. She was pretty sure her body kept going on muscle memory rather than an actual conscious decision for her to keep walking. She was hot and couldn't take off her jacket without dropping Ryanne and the bag that held all their supplies. And it was still dark! Wonder of wonders. "Check the time, moocher," Lyria ordered, shoving the pocket watch at Ryanne.

Ryanne bit her lip to hide her smirk and clicked the watch open. "Quarter till midnight."

Lyria sighed in relief, feeling ready to drop. They could stop soon. Unfortunately, her next footfall was misplaced and she stumbled. Ryanne released her hold on her and pushed herself sideways at the last second so that Lyria fell forward alone. The bright side? She'd found a stream of water where they could refill their empty canteens. The not so bright side? She was now covered from head to toe in mud and Ryanne was laughing her ass off.

Lyria pushed herself up out of the grime, swiping some mud-soaked hair from in front of her face and glared at Ryanne with as much venom as she could manage from behind the brown mask that covered her face. "Don't. Say. Anything."

Ryanne was laughing too hard to say anything anyway.

Lyria bathed herself in the stream, ridding herself of the grimy dried blood and mud that had plastered itself to her skin and then tended to her clothes, washing them clean and wrapping herself in a towel until he clothes were a little drier. Ryanne, who was a great deal cleaner than Lyria, what with not falling in the mud and all the blood on her person being her own, bathed but was forced to put her sweaty clothes back on. Lyria also got her revenge for being used as a human crush and Ryanne laughing at her when she dressed her wound and Ryanne bit into her lip so hard to keep from crying, it ended up bleeding as well.

Ryanne fell asleep quickly afterwards, but Lyria stayed up and stared at the sky, waiting to see who'd died today. The first face, Lyria is relieved to see, is that of the girl from District three who'd decapitated Jewel. She's starred in Lyria's nightmares the night before so Lyria was fairly happy she wouldn't have to wake up to that girl's twisted smile just before she cut off her head.

Next was the girl from District 9 that Lyria and Ryanne had run into earlier in the day. Lyria found herself almost relieved not to see Tristan's half smile staring down at her from the night air. He was still alive. Of course, she still feared him but she also feared for him. Following the girl from District 9 were both tributes from 10. That was all; the emblem flashed across the sky and the anthem played and they were thrown back into a world of night. _I bet they were in an alliance with that girl from District 3_, Lyria thought to herself, _and that's who the mutts found this morning._

Lyria began to absently hum to herself, unable to fall asleep. An odd feeling nagged at her, crawling up and down her spine screaming at her to get up and get out of there as fast as she could. Lyria remembered having the exact same feeling right after her name had been called in the Reaping.

The sky roared its displeasure, echoing the syrupy dread that was now sliding down every nerve in Lyria's body. Lyria sat up, holding the blanket tighter to her chest and looked at her surroundings. There were no unusual sounds, exempting the thunder that cracked again, sounding like a cranky old geezer. Lyria stood and walked around the campsite, trying to calm her nerves.

Drops of rain began to fall from above. It took a moment for Lyria to register that it didn't feel right; that it stung wherever it hit - her shoulders and arms and face.

_Acid rain._

~Sacrificed With Love~

That was it! Riven was about ready to have a heart attack just watching her. What the hell was she thinking? Had going into the arena completely wiped out all her common sense? Had she gone completely insane and the only part that was left of an intelligent, charming girl was a psychotic genius with a death wish? Nevermind the fact that she had survived the encounter with those mutts - she could have easily died.

Riven ran his hands through his hair, stress evident to everyone around him. She was crazy and she was driving him crazy and he, in return, was probably going to kill someone. Yeah. Killing someone sounded really good right about now. There were just some parts of being a Career that screw you up for life.

Killing Lyria was starting to seem like a pretty thought.

Not that he could, specifically, and not that he ever would. In fact, the way he was feeling was rather paradoxical. He wanted to kill her because he cared about her and because he cared about her, he would never lay an unfriendly hand against her. The 19 year old gave a pained moan. She made his head hurt and she wasn't even here. Was this what it was like, having a little sister around? Because if it was, he was suddenly really glad he'd been raised an only child. "I hate the ground you walk on, Lyria," he grumbled to himself sourly, hands still cradling his head, fingers threaded through his dark locks. "You're ruining my life."

"If she's still alive, it's not ruined yet," Lecks advised as he settled in next to Riven. They were in the observation room where all the mentors went to watch the games so that they could watch their specific tribute at all times. "So what'd she do now?"

Riven's hands dropped and he turned to look at Lecks, a look of total disbelief on his face. "She just took on three mutts single-handed - man-eaters, too! Mutts she knew were man-eaters! I'm sure she did." He groaned pitifully swiping his already mussed hair again. "Am I going grey? Because she's making me feel about 80 right now."

Lecks chuckled. "No, not yet. But there's still some Games to go."

Riven didn't know why Lecks was laughing at him; only that whatever it was, it wasn't funny. "She's covered in mutt blood. Do you know how many wild animals that's going to attract if she can't fine some place to bathe soon?" The look Lecks gave Riven clearly said that he did. That was right. Riven had almost forgotten that Lecks had been coaching well over twenty years while this was Riven's second year. "Right. How many Games did it take you to go completely white?" Because Riven couldn't remember a time when the victor had hair any darker than that snowy shade of white.

Lecks shook his head with a smile, but said, "Oh, about seven. But I only cared about two of my tributes in all that time. I noticed it after I got back from coaching in the 21st Hunger Games. I was 26 at the time, had already been going grey for the last couple of years - it had actually started my year in the arena - but when I got back from coaching that year, my tribute's strategies and antics had wiped all the color from my hair. There was no black or grey left to my hair - pure white."

"Did your tribute die that year?" Riven asked, actually curious now.

Lecks shook his head. "No, he won. Wasn't quite right after that, though - not crazy, just confused."

Riven inclined his head towards Lecks, very curious now. The look on Leck's face was heart wrenching. It was remembrance and sadness with this little bit of hope still residing within his eyes. "Who was your tribute?" Riven asked carefully.

Lecks sighed heavily. "My little brother, Liam. He was nine years younger than me. He was reckless and stupid and I counted myself the luckiest man alive that I managed to bring him home in one piece." Lecks suddenly gave a bitter laugh. "That's why I gave her to you. I didn't think I could complete the same feat twice."

It clicked for Riven right then, but he had to make sure. "Couldn't complete what feat twice?"

"Well, like father like daughter, right?" Lecks asked with a bitter smirk.

Riven nodded. That made Lecks Lyria's uncle which begged the question - why had Lyria grown up alone? If she had family, she could have gone to live with them. Why hadn't Lecks stepped forward and taken her in? She would've been happier, she wouldn't have had to work as hard and she might not be here now. Riven had taken a peak at some of the slips in that large glass bowl. All of them had her name on them - every last one he pulled out. She'd been selected specially for this year's Games.

Lecks continued, "She was always so like my little brother. Resourceful, bright, the most engaging child if she could be bothered to let it show. I knew she'd handle the Games like him, too. It was inevitable. And I couldn't watch her do it and be expected to bring her back safely. If I'd failed this time, I don't think I could have handled it."

The younger man didn't understand anything. The Capitol had chosen her, her entire family abandoned her, left her to fend for herself. Riven couldn't understand it. "If you're her uncle, then why-"

"Liam left very specific instructions when he left," Lecks answered, sounding somewhat mechanical - like he'd trained himself to say this. He was reciting. "The night before he, Isolde and Lyria's older brother, Davath, disappeared, he stopped by my house, handed me a note personally and left. I wasn't to ever initiate contact with her. All their files in the Justice building were destroyed, hers included. That left her with no link to me and a link that had been severed with him." Lecks rubbed at his eyes, which Riven could see were a little moist. "I took too many risks as it was, volunteering to send her that allowance and arranging that job for her. If I looked like I cared too much, they might look more into her case. Liam didn't want her to be left with any links to a family of Games victors. You know how often they rig it so children of victors are forced to compete. He hoped the Capitol would overlook her."

Riven did know. His father had won the Games exactly 20 years before he, himself had. "So why didn't he just take her with him?" Riven wanted to know.

"I wish I knew."

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><p><strong>AN: You have no idea how pleased I was when I finished this chapter. I was amazed at how easily the ideas flowed and how easy Lyria's story came to me.**

**I know no one was expecting the Lecks thing but you had to notice something unusual about the way he treated her!**

**Anyhow! Review! Let Jassy know what you think! The more you review, the faster I update! Let me know what you think about Lyria's backstory. Don't you want to know why they left? And why they didn't take her with them? Do you want to know if she lives? Do you want to see more of Tristan and Ryanne? You have to tell me in order for me to know. *wink***

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews, everyone! I feel accomplished just in the fact that I've managed to gather a small base of people who appreciate this story, let alone that you now feel invested in the plot.**

**Another thank you to AnneSilverfire for her faithful reviews that never fail to brighten my day.**

**Also, to her and the anonymous reviewer Yo: Both of you had great suggestions and guesses on where this plot is going, but sadly, I give no answers. You'll just have to keep reading to find out.**

Chapter 8: Incidents and Accidents

_"But I'm not sure I can promise you something like that. It's not in my nature to be selfish."_

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><p>Tristan woke up sore the next morning, but it was finally light outside, so he figured it must be some sort of trade off. He'd spent a good portion of his night trying to find Ryanne and Lyria and had gotten in a fight with the guy from 4, Jansen, for his trouble. Luckily, it'd been a fist fight, they'd been too equally matched and the girl from their District didn't seem inclined to help Jansen finish him off. So they'd parted ways, each watching the other walk away with mistrusting glances.<p>

Tristan stood, sweeping dark hair from out of his eyes and stretching his back until it popped. He was somewhat conspicuous out here, being in the hill area rather than the trees, but no one had come after him yet, so he must not be doing too badly on the strategy.

And part of his strategy was to stay out of those damn woods. After some of the things he'd been hearing from in there, the wasn't anyway he was going to risk his neck unless he had undeniable proof that both Lyria and Ryanne had taken up a roost in there. Otherwise, it seemed like worthless sacrifice to him. Four people had died yesterday - and how relieved he'd been not to see his cousin's face in the sky that night - and all of them had been caught in the forest when it happened.

The sixteen year old boy leaned down to where his jacket was laying out on the ground as a pillow. Having lost any advantage when he'd saved Lyria's life, he hadn't had much of a chance to get supplies until after everything had been picked over and anything valuable was already gone. This left Tristan with his jacket and a weird staff that looked more like a walking stick than anything. Though it did have a pointed end, so maybe it could be used as a weapon after all. And the pointed end was hidden unless you pressed a button. Perhaps a more valuable find than he - or anyone else who'd left it behind - had first thought. But that was of little matter right now. It wasn't tributes that were a threat to him right now - it was dehydration and hunger.

Hunger was easy enough to get rid of - he'd grown up knowing how to identify the poisonous plants from the not - but thirst was beginning to be quite the problem. He packed up his very meager supplies and set off to find something usable.

Tristan liked being in the open. It made it hard for others to sneak up on him, especially with how cautious he was about the whole thing; looking everywhere and taking cover every time something flinched along the treeline. There hadn't been many projectile weapons present at the Cornucopia the night before and aside from that, most of the tributes looked like close combat types anyway - except for the shifty ones from 6 and 8, maybe, but they struck him more as thinkers.

A 14 year old doesn't survive something like this on accident.

Not like Tristan was one to judge the motives of others. Here he was, already with one death to his name and protecting a girl who hadn't spoken five sentences to without her having any knowledge of it. His motives were looking pretty shifty in his mind too.

Tristan had finally found some soft ground when he heard a faint noise. It was like a... humming. But breathier. And there was another noise underneath it that sent his skin crawling. Because he knew that sound. He'd heard it plenty of times growing up in District 7. It was like a background noise to his childhood.

It was the sound of Ryanne crying.

Tristan nearly dropped everything in his hands in his panic, but managed to keep a hold on everything and ran towards the sound. It was just around the next hill that he found her, draped over something that her body blocked. Whatever the humming sound was, it was becoming a little more inconsistent every second. He heard her speaking and barely managed to make out what she was saying through her hysterics. He hadn't heard her this panicked in years and it was honestly scaring him. And then he registered what she was saying.

"Don't you dare go anywhere, you stupid brat. I mean it." If Tristan hadn't heard the tone of her voice, he'd swear she was lecturing an unruly child back in District 7. "You aren't allowed to go anywhere! I forbid it." Tristan crept a couple steps forward, trying to see around Ryanne's hunched form, though he had an inkling of who was on the ground - he just didn't want it to be true. "You were supposed to live," Ryanne sniffled.

"Ry?" Tristan asked quietly.

The brunette whipped around and was on her feet in an instant, knife poised to protect herself and the body on the ground. Her face was hard, scrunched into a defiant mask. After a second though, she seemed to realize who he was. "Tristan?" she hiccoughed in a high voice that seemed wrong coming from the usually strong, confident woman. Her mask broke and her arm, which had held so much tension, ready to strike out at anyone who threatened the peace between the two, slumped to her side. It was a heartbreaking sight. The irritation around her face and her bare neck made her look like she'd gotten a particularly bad sunburn - painful, but not deadly.

He looked past Ryanne, who he'd been afraid to let out of his sight beforehand, in case she didn't recognize him right away or felt him a threat, and the sight on the ground nearly stopped his heart there and then.

Lyria was lying on the ground with a blanket draped over her body. Her neck, shoulders and face were severely red and the skin was blistered, even slightly melted in some spots. He couldn't see them under the blanket, but he got the impression that it would be a similar case on her arms, the way the blisters began to trail down her shoulders. She was laying halfway in a little stream and something was rolled up under her to prop up her head. The humming sound he'd heard earlier was her raspy moaning as she tried to breath through the pain. Her eyes were open, but staring at nothing.

Tristan, seized by a protectiveness he didn't realize he was capable of feeling for anyone aside from Ryanne, dropped to her side on his knees, completely forgetting his thirst. "What happened?" he demanded, not taking his eyes from her prone form. He couldn't stand to look at her burnt body but couldn't look away either.

Ryanne hiccoughed again and sniffled, trying to regain enough control of herself to speak. "L-last night, we had s-s-settled down and I f-fell asleep. She was awake whe-en it started!" Ryanne managed to get out before she broke into another sob. "It was r-raining and it burned. And instead of g-getting hers-self out of th-there, she threw the blanket o-over me and w-w-woke me up." Ryanne was getting hysterical again and the stuttering was due to the force of the sobs wracking her body. "Sh-she had n-no protection. Wh-what kind of little g-girl th-throws herself in-into acid r-rain for someone she h-har-dly knows?"

_Acid rain_. Tristan hadn't turned away from Lyria that whole time, but with Ryanne's account of what had happened fresh in his mind, something about Lyria's countenance changed in his mind. She wasn't weak; she was stronger than he could have possibly imagined. "Obviously this one."

~Sacrificed With Love~

_Several Hours Earlier_

_The first couple drops that hit Lyria's face left her with an odd tingling sensation that soon turned to stinging. Slowly, as a couple more drops fell on the bridge of her nose, it turned to a burning sensation. Lyria looked up and saw dark, green tinted clouds looming overhead. One drop landed in her eye and instantly started burning. Lyria worked to hold in the scream that threatened to break through her throat at the pure agony the little drop of water caused._

_She had to decide a course of action fast and Ryanne wasn't available for consultation. That left everything up to her._

_Without really thinking about it, Lyria stripped off the blanket and draped it over Ryanne's body, leaving Lyria in nothing but her undergarments. Then quickly, as more drops fell, burning her back now, Lyria shook Ryanne's sleeping form._

_Ryanne, like the day before, was not happy to be woken and attempted to swipe the blanket off of herself. "What the hell, Lyria?" the girl demanded, but Lyria kept the blanket firmly in place with a lot of effort. Her jaw locked up to keep her from hissing in pain as little beads of burning water rolled off her back. Ryanne tried to bat the blanket away again, but Lyria smacked her hand this time, wincing as the tempo at which the rain was falling increased. Ryanne noticed. "Lyria?" she asked, sounding younger than she had a moment before._

_"It's raining," Lyria explains through gritted teeth, "and it burns. If you get any in that bite, you're going to be hating life."_

_Ryanne was too tired and disoriented at the time to actually register what Lyria was telling her or to realize that without the blanket, Lyria was without anything to cover her tiny frame from the unforgiving elements. She just blankly nodded and got up shakily from where she'd laid to go to sleep._

_Lyria disappeared and came back with her jacket and clothes, but didn't take the time to put them on before she began to lead Ryanne around. Ryanne drowsily followed, noticing that her skin was slowly but surely becoming more and more inflamed, particularly on her shoulders and back. Lyria had hunched over on herself to keep the acid from doing the worst to her front and her hair was shielding as much of her as possible, falling in lank ringlets about her face, which was beginning to look as if she'd pressed a hot iron to it. All the rain that remained in her hair dripped in steady streams, making lines of irritation more prominent than the rest down her back._

_It was a slow process for Ryanne to regain her bearings. It was like a child leading a child. And then when she finally became aware of the world again, she was so shocked by Lyria's state that she could hardly do anything but follow like a good little mindless drone._

_Ryanne watched in sick fascination as blood began to mix with the rain that ran down her back, the watery red painting her back in strokes of a gory nature. Her shoulders, which had born the brunt of the rain, had began to melt and cracked open, the blood sliding from the wounds a little more every second. Ryanne heard the low whining sound Lyria emitted when the rain began hitting the open partitions in her skin but thought it sounded more like a dying animal._

_Lyria didn't let up though - she kept leading them through, checking on Ryanne every moment or so to make sure she was still with her and still firmly under the blanket that was draped over her head._

_Ryanne didn't know how she managed it. The drops that blew in under the makeshift hood hurt like hell and that was a very minor fraction of the amount of acidic water that hit Lyria's skin every second. Ryanne was left with the impression that Lyria's skin was rotting off, right before her eyes._

_They made it out into the open terrain and the second the trees no longer kept them within their cocoon, the rain stopped._

_Ryanne stood behind Lyria still, watching as the 11 year old's shoulders moved up and down with the great effort it must be taking her to suck in any air. Her exhales sounded a bit off and wheezy, but she was still standing. Lyria turned to face Ryanne and Ryanne saw the great toll the rain had taken on her. Skin was cracked and melted, leaving red, blood encrusted perforations in her skin that were still leaking crimson. Her cheeks were stained bright red, not quite bleeding, but looking very close. Her arms and legs were less damaged than her shoulders, but her feet were even worse off, having splashed through a couple puddles on the trek from the camp to here without any boots on._

_It was horrible and gruesome and Ryanne just stared at her as her eyes went glassy and unseeing and the girl fell to the floor in a heap of blood and flesh._

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan made a snap decision right then and careful to be gentle, grabbed her chin and tilted her face so that her eyes could meet his. "Lyria," he said, his voice loud and clear. Her blue eyes were still open, but they didn't even flicker in his direction at the sound of her name. "Lyria," he repeated a little louder, trying to get a response from her, "can you speak at all?"

There was silence from the girl.

Ryanne rung her hands mercilessly. "You'd better not die," Ryanne repeated, going back to her earlier mix of ordering Lyria to live and crying. She kept demanding she say something or make a motion, but Lyria might as well have been dead to the world.

"Sorry," Tristan whispered to Lyria lowly. He then brought a hand back and struck her on her shoulder where the acid had begun to eat through her skin.

The effect was immediate - she jolted back to life, her whole body jerking up at the sudden pain. Her eyes went wide and so full of life, Tristan feared she might be stealing the vivacity of another. The raspy breathy moans were cut off by a sharp cry of pain. He saw her eyes flicker to him for just a moment - just a split second - and saw that they were guarded. And then the pain overpowered her small body and she fell unconscious.

Ryanne was stunned, her mouth hanging open in complete and utter shock as Tristan lifted himself from the ground and gathered up what little was his. Noticing her look, he shrugged. "She was in agony awake. Putting her to sleep might actually help the healing process."

Ryanne's jaw snapped shut and she nodded. She hadn't liked the way he'd gone about knocking her out, but it was effective and she couldn't really see a better option. But watching as he began to walk away, Ryanne was a little stunned. "But you promised!" she blurted without really meaning to. Tristan turned around with an eyebrow raised, a silent question. "You promised you would help me protect her." She wiped at her nose which had been running like a faucet and the last part so soft, Tristan wasn't sure she'd said it; "She's dying, Tristan."

"I think you're counting her out far too soon," Tristan advised sagely, sounding ages older than he was. "But I will help you protect her. She needs rest above anything else. You will tend to her and I will keep guard from a distance."

"But-"

"She doesn't trust me, Ry," Tristan said smoothly, cutting off her argument with precision, "and I don't think now would be the best time to try and convince her otherwise." Tristan remembered the flash in those eyes; cold and heartless and even dangerous. He couldn't help remembering when he watched her Reaping; when he'd mocked her for smiling and waving and being a child. How could he have been so blind to the person underneath? That childish guise was a mask. "So I watch from a distance."

Ryanne nodded in acceptance and wondered when Tristan had become all wise. Sure, he'd always had a pretty level head but this was like a whole new person had emerged. And this person had more patience than a Saint. "Alright," she agreed.

Tristan disappeared around one of the hills, never looking back at the two girls he'd left behind.

Shortly after his departure, a parachuted pod appeared, falling to the floor of the small gully with a light metallic thud. Ryanne opened it and sent her thanks to the Gods when she found the burn salve and bandages. She'd already used the rest of her antiseptic on Lyria's feet and shoulders, but this was so much better. But she couldn't help wondering what had made them send it down. Was it because Lyria was so obviously in pain? Or was it because the Capitol wanted her alive so they could exploit popularity. It was an expensive gift, after all, any type of medicine, let alone Capitol quick-salve.

The brunette pushed the question away from her psyche and began to put the medicine on the burns that ran rampant across the other girl's body, not caring about the origin if it worked.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria awoke with an explosion of pain. She winced to herself but tried to ignore it because, after all, pain meant that she hadn't died yet. Which might have actually been a better option compared to the agony that coursed through every cell in her body. Lyria attempted to shift herself over on the ground and ended up giving an involuntary groan as the ground rubbed against her shoulders.

The dark mass at her side, which Lyria hadn't noticed a moment ago, flinched at the sound and turned to face Lyria with a hopeful expression. Ryanne looked so happy to see her alive at that moment, Lyria briefly wondered if she hadn't been dead. If so, resurrection sucked way worse than the actual being dead.

And then Ryanne's expression turned from exuberantly happy to murderous.

"I can't believe you, you stubborn little bitch!" Ryanne shrieked, picking herself off the ground enough to crawl over to Lyria's side and slump down on her knees, clenching her hands into tight fists at her side. "I can't believe you tried to pull that shit with me! I offered this alliance to try and keep you alive; not to have you die being all heroic and saving me!" Ryanne leaned in closer, and Lyria got the distinct feeling that Ryanne really wanted to hit her. "And then you trick me into wearing the only protective covering you have readily available."

"I didn't trick you," Lyria protested weakly, her voice scratchy from how raw her throat had become. "You were half asleep and I put the blanket over you and you kept it-"

"I was so out of it, you could have suggested I stab myself and I would have done it with a smile!" Ryanne snapped angrily, angry at Lyria for letting this happen to herself and angry with herself for allowing the girl to get away with it. Ryanne leaned in even closer, looking menacing as she loomed above the tiny redhead, rage apparent on her face. "Don't you ever do anything like that again," Ryanne ordered, enunciating so she'd be sure to catch every word, "or I swear to you, next time, I'll throw you to the mutts myself. You understand?"

Lyria peered up at Ryanne with a curious and unreadable expression. Her eyebrows were lightly tilted together, her mouth in a neutral line and her azure eyes searched Ryanne's. Finally, a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips, breaking the mask with ease. "Oh, I understand," Lyria said with a little laugh. Ryanne was just about to retort with "good", but she continued, "But I'm not sure I can promise you something like that. It's not in my nature to be selfish."

Ryanne couldn't come up with a retort and narrowed her eyes at the clever little girl who just smiled back with all the innocence pure evil could possibly muster. Ryanne gave up and switched routes; "How're you feeling?"

"I feel like death," Lyria moaned in a tone that was just short of a whine.

Ryanne smirked and replied with, "You look like it too." She smirked at the glare the tiny redhead sent her way. "So are you feeling better than you did before or has it gotten worse?"

Lyria groaned loudly and tossed her head to look at Ryanne better when she leaned back. "There was a before?" she asked curiously, having little to no recollection of what happened after she woke Ryanne up. "I feel like someone just dragged me through a fire pit and then threw me onto a bed of spikes. If it gets any worse, promise you'll just kill me. It would be merciful, really."

Ryanne watches her face for a moment, looking for some sign of joking or sarcasm and when she finds none, she frowns deeply. "So you don't remember anything?" the older girl asks gently, testing the waters.

Lyria thinks back, trying to recall anything. And runs into a huge wall of pain she hadn't remembered at first. Oooh, there was something worse than what she was going through now. Lyria winced a little at the remembrance. The pain she was feeling now would be like comparing a little match burn to being burned alive. And another memory caught her attention; a familiar set of eyes, a whispered apology and a surge of pain so great, it'd knocked her out cold. "Yeah, I remember a little," she said, her voice edged and venomous with something akin to anger. Frustration or irritation. "Your cousin hit me on my burns."

Ryanne winced at the words, jerking back harshly at the sympathy pain that flooded through her at the thought. "Yes, he did. But only to knock you out. You were, like, half-dead and you weren't breathing right and you wouldn't blink and you weren't responding..."

"So he hit me to knock me out. So much better."

Ryanne's protective streak reared up at her tone and split in two. On one hand, she wanted to protect Tristan who'd really only been trying to help and keep her alive since the moment they stepped into the arena. However, the part of her that wanted to protect Lyria argued that she wouldn't be this way if she didn't have reason to be. He'd caused her physical pain, even if he meant well. And it wasn't just bitterness and sarcasm in her voice; there was an edge of pain that had been present throughout the conversation, but intensified when they'd started talking about Tristan.

The side that wanted to protect Lyria won out but the side that wanted to defend Tristan had to get it's final remark in before it could recede. "He was just trying to help you," Ryanne said, her voice coming out a little harsher than she'd meant.

Lyria's eyes snapped to her and Ryanne fell silent. "Yeah. Maybe. But why?"

Ryanne couldn't give her and answer.

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><p><strong>AN: Alright, so I got a little offtrack here, but whatever. Next chapter will be exciting. I guarantee it!**

**So let me know your thoughts! I've been fairly constant about posting, I think I deserve a little reward for it. What do you think's going to happen to Lyria? Ryanne? Tristan? Who do you suppose wins these games? Who would you want to win? Any other theories on her family?**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,**  
><strong>Jassabella<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hey, guys! This is chapter 9. Hope you all enjoy.**

**And as always, thank you to** AnneSilverfire for her wonderful reviews.****

Chapter 9: New Strategy

_"Insanity, thy name is Lyria!"_

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><p>Two days later and the death toll had been relatively light with only one death in the meantime. The boy from 8 had suffered severe burns from the acid rain that had effected about half the forest and had been found by one of the other tributes as he lay on the ground dying. Ever since, not a single cannon shot had gone off to signal the death of a tribute. The Gamemakers did their best to remedy this but only succeeded in roughing up Jansen and Aiden with the fog that crept through, trying to suffocate them.<p>

Lyria, who'd been healed to the point where she could walk again - and put on a shirt, for that matter - was woken early that morning by the sound of a far off buzzing that sounded very much like bees or possibly tracker jackers, which would certainly mess up the morning.

The small redhead pulled her jacket on - the morning was deceptively cool - and took a peek at Ryanne, still snuggled under her blanket, her head cushioned on her jacket, which was rolled up. That was it's only use now, seeing as one of the sleeves had a giant hole in it. Lyria went for the watch still tucked in her pocket. Though she hadn't considered that watch useful in the beginning, it was actually starting to become a convenience that she was glad for. Especially with how the Gamemakers had been flipping the daytime. There was only like, an hour of light some days, making it impossible to calculate any sort of time unless you counted off seconds. Or you had a clock.

Ryanne had fallen asleep around one in the morning and it was now six, meaning she wouldn't be waking up on her own for several hours now. And Ryanne was a heavy sleeper so it was unlikely anything not intended to wake her would.

Lyria crept away from the camp, having no means to leave a note and not sure she would've even if it were possible. If she was about to go on a suicide mission, she didn't want Ryanne foolishly chasing after her and getting herself killed as well. No, it was definitely best to do incredibly stupid stuff by yourself. So she headed off to find the buzzing.

Only she wasn't alone.

Tristan, who woke every couple hours to see if they'd moved or just to check on them in general, happened to be up and watching when she began to leave their little camp, and curious as to what she was doing, as well as worried about her well being, followed her.

She was a cautious little thing, he realized, when she knew she could be heading into a trap. Every step was measured - particularly taken so as not to make a sound and not to reveal her location. She kept hidden as best she could in a place with virtually no hiding places. Tristan easily trailed her, much better at hiding in plain sight than his size would indicate. Though more than once, she would glance back and he'd swear she caught him. But she would say nothing, only place one hand at the hilt of the daggers at her waist and keep moving forward.

Soon, though, she stopped, just at the edge of where hills turned into a plateau that led to the forest. She was laying down on a steep incline, on the side so she could watch without being seen.

Swarms of insects were flooding out of the trees only to circle back and reenter the forest as soon as they'd come out. Lyria was confused at the odd pattern of the bugs. That wasn't natural. That was another trial set by the Gamemakers. Luckily, as Lyria could see, they weren't tracker jackers. However, the swarm of them was massive and the cloud of insects hung just beneath the treetops like a fog, buzzing loud enough to wake the dead.

A pained yell met Lyria's ears about ten seconds before the first person slowly appeared, dashing out of the wooded area, arms raised over head to ward off the bugs. He was alone and looked very tired and underfed and dirty. Lyria could only just identify the person underneath the layer of mud and dirt caked onto his face as Bron. He was a career, but Lyria realized there'd been a certain lack of hunting down of tributes this year. Apparently, without the norm combination of 1, 2 and 4, any alliance had been shattered. He looked just as desperate as anyone else in the arena, if better armed than most. He had a bow and arrow as well as a sword.

He wasn't the only one to come running out of the forest, smoked out by the insects. Lyria than realized the purpose was to draw them in so they would be forced to fight to the death before returning to their respective survival tactics.

Cale and Jansen both came dashing out of the treeline at the same time, Cale looking decidedly clean and Jansen almost as dirty as Bron. Lyria could tell who'd been doing the fighting when Jansen rushed forward, his own sword drawn, toward Bron, and she hung back to watch rather than going in after her fellow tribute to help him out. Because she was hanging back, though, and watching Jansen, she didn't see the tribute coming up behind her.

The boy from 6, the youngest aside from Lyria, looked wild. Something in his eyes was broken that Lyria thought could never be fixed as he crept up behind her, hunting knife drawn. Other's began to file out into the small clearing, getting into their own scuffles. Lyria was completely focused on the boy's movements and oblivious to any of the other little brawls. His countenance had changed, she saw, and his walk wasn't so much a walk anymore as an oily, catlike slink that would have made Tigris envious.

All of a sudden, he rushed forward and jammed the knife right into the middle of her back. Lyria couldn't see properly, being too far away to tell and the blood blocked the exact positioning, but Lyria knew with a sick certainty that he'd gotten her in the spinal cord. She was done for.

However, he hadn't wedged it in deeply enough to completely sever it because Cale was able to turn her head back shakily, enough to see him and the blood that had sprayed on him when he'd stabbed her - her own blood. "Jansen!" she screamed shortly, just before he brought the knife back again and jammed it into the side of her neck. Her life's blood poured and she fell forward.

Jansen, distracted by Cale calling his name, was damn lucky that it didn't get him killed. He blocked Bron's sword with his own and glanced back at her. Lyria saw it when the fact that she wasn't standing anymore registered. Jansen, in an impressive showing of strength, pushed forward with his full body weight and managed to knock Bron off kilter, sending him careening to the ground. Jansen didn't even notice - he only had eyes for Cale's body and her murderer. Bron had fallen to the bottom of his priorities list.

The boy seemed to realize that Jansen was the real threat and began to scramble back. He'd lost his knife; it was still stuck in Cale's neck. He was defenseless. He bared his teeth at Jansen, which while an odd display of bravado for a human, didn't even stall Jansen. He lurched forward, the long blade in his hand arcing in a motion that was almost elegant, slicing the boy's head clean off.

Other skirmishes had finished and the rest of the contestants fled back into the forest, though the only casualties were Cale and the District 6 boy. It would excite the Captiol, seeing a vengeance killing and keep them from complaining about a boring Games until the Gamemakers could unleash the next big bad.

Jansen stayed where he was, breathing heavily over the body of his partner's murderer. His shoulders heaved and he looked horrified and confused, like he wasn't quite sure what had happened. The head of the boy lay a good few feet away from the body and he couldn't seem to decide which part of the boy he should be staring at. Finally, he stalked forward and gave the boy's head a good kick. Lyria winced, though the boy could no longer feel it, and tensed up as his head rolled, eyes facing up and staring at nothing.

Jansen moved back to where Cale had crumpled to the ground and looked down at her with an odd expression. Lyria couldn't see the tears but she could see the anguish and heartbreak on his face and realized with a jolt that he and Cale hadn't just been partners. He'd been in love with her.

Jansen dropped down to her side and cradled her head in his lap. He pulled the knife out of her neck and threw it to the ground with anger and hugged her body close to him, whispering something that Lyria couldn't and didn't want to hear. She felt horrible enough, just sitting there, watching this very personal moment. But she couldn't take her eyes off of him for her own safety.

Finally, he let out a deep breath and Lyria saw his entire body shudder as he reached down with shaking hands and closed her eyes.

The boy from 4 got up, grabbed his sword from where he'd thrown it on the ground earlier, and took off into the forest, a crazy look in his eye. As he left, the cannon sounded twice.

Lyria broke forward before she could stop herself, lurching towards the battle field and nearly stumbling over her own feet to get there before the hovercraft came for their bodies. It hadn't been a conscious decision, really, but once she started, she couldn't very well stop. Tristan, alarmed by her sudden movement towards the very place that had just been filled with other bloodthirsty tributes, took off after her, not caring if she saw him anymore, drawing the staff in order to defend her if she should need it.

She went for Cale's body first where the knife that had taken her life lay and grabbed it, sending her silent apologies to the corpse that she couldn't lay eye on. It was everyone for themselves out here and Lyria needed that knife. She then went for the pack that Jansen hadn't bothered to strip off her body.

Tristan was captivated, standing hidden by a steep slope as he watched her. He'd thought her so innocent and unthinking and even naive. But here she was, rummaging through a corpse's personal effects to suit her own needs. The disgust was clear on her face, but she clearly knew that sometimes one had to do the unthinkable in order to survive. Every time he turned around, it seemed, she was surprising him.

And every time a new trait presented itself, the farther away she seemed from Briza. His whole reason for protecting her was slipping away and he wanted to protect her more than ever.

Tristan suddenly felt very predatory, watching her the way he was, but he didn't dare let her out of his sight.

Lyria suddenly stood, avoiding looking at either of the bodies as the hovercraft arrived behind her retreating form, as if it had been waiting for her departure. She dashed directly toward Tristan and stopped short when she spotted him. His breath caught at the expression on her face - unreadable, completely blank. He gulped unconsciously, knowing that if she decided to strike now, he wouldn't be able to defend himself against one of her knives. She'd been practicing at camp the last couple of days and she was getting better.

The small girl slowly stalked forward, her eyes set on him as she made to edge past him. He saw the mistrust in her gaze and... confusion? But she didn't look angry. A hand was on the hilt of one of her knives, though he suspected it was more for defense should he decide to attack her.

Something stunning flashed before her eyes, glinting brightly in her jewel-toned orbs. She dropped the bag at his feet and sprinted past him, back to camp.

She never looked back.

Tristan was confused but leaned down and grabbed the bag. It was a little heavy but not unmanageable. Undoing the fastening, he opened it up to see some supplies he desperately needed. Lyria had kept the knife she'd gotten off the ground but inside the bag was a blade, too short to be a sword and too long to be a knife. There was also a canteen that sloshed full of something when he checked it and little baggies of dried food and a loaf of bread. Tristan looked up at the spot where she'd disappeared between the hills.

He didn't understand her at all.

Lyria didn't trust him. It was obvious and he didn't blame her because he'd never been exactly forthcoming with his intentions. In actuality, he had no idea what his intentions were anymore so all the more reason for her not to trust him. But she'd left him food when she could have easily just taken it and left him to starve. She left him a weapon that she could have used against him. She hadn't watched him as she ran away, trusting him not to kill her while her back was turned. She hadn't said anything at all. Tristan didn't know where he stood with her anymore either. Had a more confusing person than Lyria ever existed?

He sighed, his head beginning to hurt. He grabbed the canteen and took a swig from it. Water splashed into his mouth, cool and refreshing against the rising heat. After he'd replaced it in the bag, he shouldered it and began his way back to his own little camp.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Ryanne was still asleep when Lyria returned and when she awoke, she didn't notice anything off about the younger girl. If she noticed the presence of the new knife, she didn't ask. They went about their business, Ryanne gathering some greens for their morning meal and Lyria sharpened her newest knife on a nearby stone, making sure it was still up to caliber.

Lyria felt a certain amount of sickness at having taken the knife for herself but knew that neither Cale or the boy from District 6 had use for it anymore. She handed off one of her knives to Ryanne so she had her own weapon and kept the soiled one for her own use. She didn't feel right giving it to Ryanne when she hadn't the slightest clue what that blade had been used to do less than three hours ago and Lyria certainly wasn't going to explain how she'd come across it.

However, watching this morning's mini bloodbath had brought a new thought to the forefront of Lyria's mind. "We need a new strategy," she announced as she nibbled on her breakfast, not feeling particularly hungry. She was just glad Ryanne hadn't insisted on eating the last of their jerky.

Ryanne looked up from her food at Lyria and shrugged. "Sure. If you got any ideas that aren't going to get us killed, I'm all for it."

"How would you feel about my plan if I said it would only _probably_ get us killed?" Lyria asked innocently and Ryanne could swear she saw a little halo glowing around her head. Pure evil and crazy to boot, too. But smart. "But, if we succeed, we're going to be that much closer to winning the Games. If we lose... eh. Better than prolonging our torture in this hellhole."

Ryanne had to admit she had a point. By this point, they'd both been wounded - Lyria almost mortally so - and they were starting to lose weight and strength because they weren't eating properly. Which both their bodies had plenty of experience with, but after their little stint in the Capitol where they were never left wanting, their bodies had to re-acclimate to the lack of readily available food. But at least they still had some food supplies left. But if all this dragged out much longer... Well, they could survive off of greens, sure, but strength without something solid in their bellies would become nonexistent.

Ryanne nodded slowly, not liking the odds, but she'd known from the beginning that any odds that tilted in her favor were going to have to be worked for. "Alright, I'm in, Little Red. What's the new plan?"

Lyria explained her plan thoroughly, reminding Ryanne of an old war general getting ready for an attack. She explained all the merits and risks this plan came with and what the odds were of success - not great, but better than if they just sat here, waiting for the other tributes to drop dead. She even named off statistics she'd calculated herself about their chances of killing off individual tributes.

At the end of it all, Ryanne was left staring at the 11 year old and promptly barked out a laugh. "Insanity, thy name is Lyria!" she proclaimed, still laughing loudly.

Lyria's eyebrows scrunched, not getting the joke.

"You know," Ryanne continued, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, "I never realized how close the name Lyria sounded to Delirium until this moment. You're quite the piece of work, you know, Little Red? You just made a suicide mission sound like a good idea."

Maybe it was because it was her idea being ridiculed and laughed at, but Lyria personally didn't find any of this very funny. "You in?"

"'Course," Ryanne answered instantly. "Can't leave you to get yourself killed, can I?"

~Sacrificed With Love~

The next morning, Lyria was up and waking Ryanne at 4 a.m. though one wouldn't be able to tell it by the amount of light. It was bright with sunshine which was ironic, considering it was the one time Lyria desperately wanted it to be dark. But hey, they had a plan and delaying could screw everything to hell - especially if one of them changed their mind last second. Lyria wasn't planning on it though she wouldn't put it past Ryanne to get shaky.

They decided to leave everything but their weapons and one canteen at the camp. The smell of food could draw wild animals right to them and the pack would make noise and slow them down. Besides, the other tributes seemed to have already decided that no matter how difficult life was in the forest, it was going to be worse if they left the sanctity of the trees so the likeliness of being robbed was minor. And even if they were robbed, if they came back at all, it would be a miracle.

Lyria tossed the excess knife to Ryanne who caught it and grappled to it so hard her knuckles turned white. Lyria noted this with a little apprehension. If she was already frightened, what did that say about when they were faced by other tributes who were looking to kill them.

However, Lyria couldn't very well tell her to stay back now. If there was anything she'd learned from the older girl, it was that she was loyal and caring to the point of stupidity and that Lyria had made it onto her good side so that loyalty and caring extended to her whether she wanted it to or not. Now that she'd told her what she was going to be up to, there was no Ryanne was going to let her go on her own. If she'd just crept away from the camp...

No, that wouldn't have worked either. Ryanne would've come looking for her. And she'd probably have died doing it.

Lyria sighed. This is why she hadn't been counting on an alliance and had been completely ready to reject Ryanne's proposal from the first moment - besides the fact that she thought it might be a clever ploy to gain her trust and back-stab her, that is. It was because if you spent enough time with someone, anyone worth being on a team with, you began to care about them and their well being. You began to fear for their safety, whether you want to or not. And that's a liability in a televised death game.

Lyria may not have much to go back to (or at least, she hadn't before Riven's offer to adopt her) but that didn't change the fact that she wanted to live. And that would be really hard to do if someone she cared about died for her.

But that was what Ryanne would do, if it came right down to it.

Lyria didn't say anything to the older girl, not thrilled with the fact that there was no longer any "winning" the Games for her. If she survived, she would forever be scarred by this and the memory of losing her first friend to the cruelty of the Capitol. If she died, she will have had her entire life stripped from her before she'd even begun. Either way, the only one who gained and didn't lose at the same time was the Capitol. And for that, Lyria hated them.

They started towards the woods with caution, watching the forest's edges for movement. If they were caught now, it could mess up everything. But no. They made it into the treeline without any incident and began to creep through the depths.

Occasionally, Ryanne would forget to watch where she was stepping and a twig would snap under her foot. Lyria was light and surefooted, though she had no idea which way they should be going to find any of the other tributes - bad with directions, and all that. Plus it'd been nearly a full day since she'd seen them all disappear back into the forest - all of them could have gone completely different directions since then.

Suddenly, Lyria's ears perked and she gestured for Ryanne to stop moving before creeping forward herself.

The tiny girl stepped forward carefully, testing the waters as she slowly made her way to a small break in the thicket of trees. The sound resumed and Lyria thought it sounded like a muffled... whimpering. Another sound invaded her ears - a squishing sound? - and she took another step forward, finally making it to a point where she could see. What she was confronted with was the shaky girl from 8 - Elsie - crouched over an animal that looked like some sort of wild cat. It was black with massive paws and a black mane. Lyria saw the girl's knife plunge into it's chest again and it made another whimpering sound.

Lyria drew her own knife, ready to throw it at the girl and just get it over with already. But a large '_crack'_ had the girl spinning around, her bow strung with an arrow already nocked. Lyria also looked for the source of the cracking sound and saw Ryanne, staring at the arrow.

Lyria cursed inwardly. The bow was trained on her, not Ryanne, thankfully, because Lyria was obviously the most threatening with a knife already poised to be thrown. Lyria took another step forward, challenging the girl to shoot her. If one of them had to die right now, Lyria wanted it to be herself. She was alive by chance already. If one of them had to be shot down, it should be her.

The blond's eyes were narrowed at the redhead, alight with a feverish intensity. Lyria couldn't read anything in her face. There wasn't indecision, confusion, fear, arrogance. It was blank completely except for a look of pure concentration and completely centered on Lyria.

Lyria raised her head at the girl, as if daring her to shoot her in the neck. Ryanne, who still hadn't grabbed for her knife, made a high squeaking sound that resembled a sob. The blond's eyes flashed to the older girl. _No_, Lyria thought with ferocity, and stepped in a pile of leaves in front of her to grab her attention again. And it worked. Elsie's eyes burned into Lyria's form, drawing the string of her bow back further. If she released and she hit her mark, whatever it was would be skewered. Lyria wasn't looking forward to it.

Moments seemed to take hours, knife poised, archer at the ready, though neither made a move against each other. It was a standstill and Ryanne was smart enough to keep still and out of it.

The sound of a bird in the distance drew Lyria's attention as a string of notes played their way through the trees.

Something snapped in the girl's eyes and Lyria saw her intentions about a half second before hand. "No!" she screamed loudly as the girl released the arrow and it flew through the air, not towards Lyria but Ryanne. It was too late though and Lyria could only watch in horror as the arrow flew through the air, slow, as if trying to cut through molasses.

It was in this same slow motion that Lyria witnessed the arrow spear Ryanne's body. The momentum knocked the brunette back and blood flew everywhere. Lyria watched as she fell to the ground, the arrow head peeking out of her back.

With a cry of rage, Lyria drew her arm back and launched the knife into the air.

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><p><strong>AN: Chapter 9, finished.**

**Jeez, talk about emotionally taxing. Killing off one of your favorite characters sucks!**

**Anyhow, let me know what you guys think. Chapter 10 will be up in the next couple of days and you'll get to see how well Lyria handles the rest of the Games without the help of her friend. But until then... REVIEW! Seriously, I really need to know what you guys think. If I don't, I'm not sure if I should continue or just leave it like it is. C'mon, people!**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: God, this chapter was hard to write. So heartbreaking.**

**A huge thank your to the anonymous viewer yo. Your reviews were wonderful and insightful and I can't wait to see what you have to say about this chapter.**

**Also, thank you to Sarah303 who has also been rather faithful in her reviews, and as always, thank you AnneSilverfire. I'm so happy to have such dedication from my readers, even if it really is just you three.**

Chapter 10: When the Banner Falls

_"You wanted me as a partner in a Game of life and death because you liked my hair? And I'm the insane one?"_

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><p><em>With a cry of rage, Lyria drew her arm back and launched the knife into the air.<em>

This time, there was no sickening slow motion. Lyria didn't have to watch as the knife hurtled towards her, every second seeming to take years. No, she released the knife and in the blink of the eye, it was embedded in the other girl's chest, the blade completely sheathed in her flesh. The hilt jutted out, protruding from just above her breasts, slightly on the left, directly over her heart. Lyria hadn't aimed for the heart - she hadn't aimed at all.

Tears began to blur her vision as what just happened truly sunk in. Ryanne would be dead in a matter of moments if she wasn't already. One of the few people in this world who she knew cared for her and she was gone now - struck down by a girl no older than she was. She wasn't the one with the knife in her hands. Why did that damn girl shoot Ryanne and not Lyria? For the first time since her parents left, Lyria was filled with true pain. Pain and anger that consumed her until she saw red.

Lyria dashed forward. Why was the girl still standing? Why hadn't she fallen to the ground? Why wasn't she dead yet? Why wasn't she crying out for help or screaming in agony? Lyria didn't understand! Lyria would make her fall - for Ryanne!

The world around Lyria had faded to vague shapes that meant little to her, the tears making everything foggy except for the girl - the murderer. With another cry, this one sounding far from human, Lyria launched herself into the air and tackled the girl. They both fell to the ground and the girl began fighting. Lyria grabbed the knife in her chest and twisted roughly, taking satisfaction in the way her face contorted in pain. Ryanne might not be coming back, but neither was she.

The girl continued to fight, despite the pain and the fact that she was already dying, slowly. Her heart must be in shambles right now. The fact that she could move at all was astounding, but Lyria wasn't in the mood for miracles. She grabbed the knife again and pulled, hoping she would bleed faster.

Elsie was in extreme amounts of pain and she could feel the blood draining from her chest. She was wrestling against the 11 year old, trying to get her off, but she had more strength right now. Elsie saw the rage in her eyes and how something else that had been sane a moment before in those sea-jewel depths had broken. She'd broken it and now she would pay the price. But Elsie couldn't give in.

The blond's hand came up to grab at Lyria's throat, constricting around the pale freckled throat with as much vigor as she could muster, but Lyria hardly noticed the lack of oxygen. Lyria jammed the knife into her side and the girl gasped in agony as she pulled it out again.

It was then that Elsie realized that Lyria was saying something, her mouth moving against a broken smile. "Why her, huh? She couldn't hurt you. Didn't even have a knife out... had a family... care... wrong person." Elsie could hear less and less of what she was saying, though if it was because she was slowly dying or because Lyria was losing the capacity to speak, she didn't know. She just knew she'd made a horrible mistake.

Lyria's eyes had blazed with anger, but suddenly, something snapped back into place. She halted her attack on Elsie's body. All color flooded away from the younger girl's face and Elsie was able to make out one final thing - a horrified utterance; "I'm sorry." Tears streamed down her face, blood stained from the tussle and Elsie saw the remorse in her eyes. Realizing what she was sorry for, Elsie froze. A block of ice formed in her chest and her hand slipped away from the other girl's neck. She was sorry for killing her. And in this, Elsie's final moments, she regretted taking the life of the other girl. It had been necessary, but she regretted it

Elsie whispered the only thing she could think of; "It's alright."

Lyria nearly couldn't follow through, hearing the forgiveness in the girl's voice. Remorse coursed through her veins like blood. She'd become a senseless killer, set on vengeance and she'd almost lost a piece of herself to the madness. Compassion filled her. This girl was already dead and suffering because of her. The least she could do was... Lyria ended it. The life slipped from the girl's eyes and Lyria gently closed them.

The young girl stood, covered in blood that wasn't her own, sadness coursing through her, mixed with remorse. A canon shot sounded. Lyria hadn't wanted to kill anyone before and now that she had, she felt like she'd lost something integral to herself; something she could never get back. And she regretted it.

"Lyria," a voice asked weakly. It was so faint, it could barely be heard over the wind.

But Lyria heard it and her heart swelled. She nearly tripped over herself, trying to get over to where Ryanne was laid out on the ground, calling her name again. She scrambled when she stumbled, crawling on hands and knees towards the little incline Ryanne had been standing on.

Lyria hated the sight before her when she found Ryanne. She was sprawled on the ground with the arrow feathers sticking out of her chest. Lyria could just imagine someone in the Capitol seeing this and making it into the next trend. The thought made Lyria sick. The smaller girl crawled closer, no longer having the strength to stand, so that Ryanne could see her. Lyria felt like crying when Ryanne smiled at her and reached for her hand, which Lyria grasped with a note of desperation. "Stay with me?" Ryanne asked quietly.

Lyria nodded, too close to sobbing to say anything coherent and moved so that she was behind Ryanne. She sat down on the ground and managed to lift Ryanne so that her head and upper shoulders rested on Lyria's lap. Ryanne continued to hold Lyria's hand, her thumb absently swiping over the back of her knuckles, silently comforting and quieting the younger girl. Lyria found that rather backwards; she wasn't the one dying.

Ryanne reached up with the hand that wasn't joined with Lyria's and tugged on one stray, matted red curl. Blood and dirt stained most of her hair and skin, but this one had managed to retain the original shade of Lyria reddish-gold. "You know, you have the most beautiful curls, Little Red," Ryanne said, her voice thoughtful as she tugged on the curl and it sprung back into place. "I've always had straight hair but I've always been a little envious of people with curls. There's something elegant about them." Ryanne angled her head back to look Lyria in the eye. "You know, your curls are part of what drew me to you."

Lyria nearly snorted at that. "You wanted me as a partner in a Game of life and death because you liked my hair? And I'm the insane one?"

Ryanne chuckled which quickly turned into coughing. Lyria, who'd relaxed a little when Ryanne started talking tensed up, her face clouding over in worry. But it was over soon enough and Ryanne resumed; "No. Well, not exactly. It was just... you reminded me of someone. She had curls too, though they weren't red. And every time you spoke, you reminded me of her more and more until I could hardly discern the two of you anymore."

"Who was it?" Lyria asked earnestly, not liking the way her voice was wavering. Lyria wasn't ready for her to leave yet. Not yet... "Who do I remind you of?" she repeated.

"My sister, Briza," Ryanne replied with a note of sadness in her voice. "She was the sweetest little girl ever. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone. She had the sweetest smile and gorgeous brown curls. Not particularly strong or athletically gifted, but so, so smart. She could talk circles around our teachers back in District 7." Lyria smiled, knowing that she had done that a time or two herself. "From the moment I laid eyes on you, I saw her. Briza with red hair and freckles. I felt like I had her with me again and it would all be okay if only I could..."

Ryanne trailed off and her thumb stilled in it's ministrations on her hand. Her eyes had a far off look. Lyria, desperately trying to pull her back before she could slip too far out of reach, gently shook her. "Ry, everything would be okay if you could what? What do you have to do to make everything okay?"

"Protect her," Ryanne whispered, her voice breaking and tears beginning to stream down her face. Lyria had never seen Ryanne anything less than Olympian in her strength. Even when she'd been crying and calling her a stupid brat for nearly dying, she'd had an inner strength that kept her in a single piece. Now, seeing her prone and vulnerable, Lyria was more frightened than ever. "When she was about your age, a guy became a little too interested in her; started sending unwanted gifts and giving her attention. She was too young and it scared her." A shudder wracked Ryanne's body and Lyria was painfully aware of how the thick, dark red spot expanded across her shirt. "O-one day, she went to visit my dad at work in the lumber yard and h-he was there. He tried to follow her home and..."

Lyria nudged Ryanne again, shaking her a little. "And?" She wanted to know - she had to know.

"She ran," Ryanne managed, though her voice had disintegrated into shaky, whispering cries. "She ran from him and towards the edges of the District. The Peacekeepers saw her and they didn't realize what was going on; they thought she was trying to escape." Another shudder ran through Ryanne and her grip tightened on Lyria's hand. "They shot her. I got there before they could take her anywhere. I sat with her, talking to her while she died." A weak laugh found it's way through the obvious pain that had seized her. "I guess there's a certain symmetry. Through you, she can do the same for me. Thank you, Lyria."

Lyria nearly laughed at that. It was so ridiculous! "Thank you?" she asked, a waver in her voice that sounded a little manic. "What the hell are you thanking me for? I'm the reason you're dying." _It should be me. _"It was my stupid plan. If we had waited, outlasted like them like we first agreed-"

"One of us still had to die in the end," Ryanne interjected. Her voice was calm and firm again and more gentle than Lyria had any any right to expect.

_It should be me._

Ryanne sighed and Lyria tried to ignore the faint gurgling sound that came with it. "Y'know, Little Red, I think I actually came to think of you as a second sister."

Lyria leaned down and kissed her on the forehead as her eyes slowly slipped closed and her breathing began to slow. Lyria knew she couldn't keep her here anymore. It was time for her to go. "Thank you, Ryanne," she whispered. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she bowed her head over the lifeless body that still rested it's head on her lap. Lyria could have sat there forever, clutching the body of her first friend and waiting to waste away or for another tribute to find her and put her out of her misery. She could have - it even appealed to her, on some level - but she wouldn't dishonor Ryanne's memory like that.

That's why she slowly lifted the girl and edged out from under her. Lyria tried not to notice how the head lolled back, as if it were barely attached. She gently set the corpse back on the ground and set the hand that had held hers right over her heart.

An odd desire took possession of Lyria and she reached for the arrow in Ryanne's chest, breaking it off where it jutted out from between two ribs. Lyria could still see the rest of the rod lodged in her chest and the splinters of the broken wood, but aside from that and the big pool of red that had spread from the wound, she almost looked as if she were asleep.

A canon firing in the distance proved that to be anything but true.

Lyria took a look at herself, covered from head to toe in blood, none of it hers. She felt dirty and horrible, looking at the liquid red clinging to her skin, already drying in some places. Now that they adrenaline was starting to wear off, she could feel where Elsie had clamped her hand around her neck. If she hadn't already been bleeding out by that point, she might have succeeded in killing Lyria. As it was, her neck hurt and she knew there would be little finger-shaped bruises later. Perhaps it would be possible to use that to her advantage, but for now, she had to go back to camp and grab some supplies.

The small girl took one final look at Ryanne's body and smiled to her. "You're not going to like this," she said with a bit of her childish air returning to her. "I'm going to get an earful from you whenever I see you again. But I hope it makes you proud."

Lyria disappeared from the site without looking back again.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan jerked awake at the sound of canon fire, looking around with bewilderment. Nothing around him and he realized with relief that the canon wasn't for him. But then he remembered where he was and who was in here with him and cursed himself for falling asleep. He scrambled to get up and grabbed the staff he'd actually become quite adept with in the last couple of days. He was far more handy with the staff than the blade Lyria had left for him, actually.

Speaking of Lyria...

Tristan dashed towards the little camp the girls had claimed ever since Lyria's little blunder with the acid rain. He steps were long and lithe, but still quiet enough that he wouldn't draw attention from the girls or anyone else hanging around unless they saw him directly.

He came upon the campsite, abandoned. A couple things were missing, though most remained. Lyria's jacket was gone, as were her knives and one of the canteens. Everything else was right where it had been the night before as he watched over them. He tried to think of rational reasons they weren't there. They'd run low on food and gone hunting. They were looking for a better water source. Lyria had run off again and Ryanne was out looking for her. They saw someone coming and ran. They were dead...

Tristan shook his head and berated himself for even thinking that way. No, they were both fine. They had to be. He crept towards the camp carefully in case they were hidden nearby and thought he was a threat, but no, nothing girl-shaped came flying out at him.

Another canon fire froze the blood in his veins.

Two canon shots, two girls. No, no, no. It couldn't be. They couldn't be gone. There were five other people. The odds were against it being them - 2 out of 7. But... the odds. Something twisted inside his chest and Tristan felt like he was going to be sick. The odds were never in the favor of those in the Hunger Games, were they? What did that mean for Ryanne and Lyria? He hated himself for falling asleep and for not watching out for them like he promised he would.

Tristan couldn't just _stand there_ anymore. He had to get out there; look for them and find them if he could. If they were out there to be found. He picked up one of the packs and looked inside of it. The extra blanket, a canteen - he checked it and found it was full - and a baggy of little crackers. If they came back, they would be pissed with him for taking their supplies, but he'd take living pissed off girls over dead or dying girls any day of the week.

He looked for any sort of clues that would indicate where they'd gone, but found nothing. So he set off in the only direction that made sense for Lyria - if not so much Ryanne - which happened to be the forest. "The things I do for you," he mumbled to himself as he set off in that direction.

Tristan wandered through the hills, keeping a keen eye out for any enemy that he might face. It was more precaution than actual paranoia that he might run into someone or he might have been followed. So when he actually heard a voice snap the silence, he was startled into alertness and brought the spear/staff thing in front of him to defend or attack. But no one appeared and he didn't hear anything else for a moment, but then that voice again. "Damn it!" the voice swore. It was decidedly male and pissed off. "I can't kill her if she's dead."

Tristan felt something icy slide down his spine. _She_. If his memory served, there were only three girls left in the Games. That meant that the likelihood of whoever the guy was talking about was one his girls. He crept closer and realized that whoever the voice belonged to was not alone.

"I don't understand you," the second voice droned, sounding almost bored; Tristan recognized the monotone as belonging to the male tribute of District 12, Marris. It was hard to forget after his interview, where he'd basically delivered a death threat to all the other tributes without so much as a waver to his steady, emotionless voice. "She never posed a true threat other than the fact that she's likable. Likable doesn't save your life out here."

_Lyria._

It had to be here. Ryanne wasn't widely hated or anything, but to describe her as likable was a bit of a stretch. And the girl from 8 hardly opened her mouth and didn't stop stuttering during her entire interview. Tristan felt bile rise in his throat. Lyria was dead. What did that mean for Ryanne? And why did he feel as if the worst had already happened? He shouldn't care about her fate - at least, not over Ryanne's. But wasn't this better? She got out before something truly horrendous happened. And she could be free, without Capitol restraint and cruelty. But he still wished she was here, fighting with him. Even that emotionless glare of hers would be a welcome sight.

The first voice, sounding notably more vicious than before barked, "She took every chance I had. The sympathy vote, the charming personality and even the worthy fighter with that damnable 10 in training." There was a bitter laugh before he added, "Even my mentor preferred her."

It was that kid from her district. That smarmy boy who had practically burned her with his eyes at the interviews. Tristan had noticed his distaste for the youngest tribute then but hadn't noticed how deeply it ran at the time. And the dynamic of his distaste was vastly more complicated than Tristan could ever have guessed.

"Well, she's no threat now. In fact, unless that hovercraft picks her up soon, she's nothing more than maggot food," Marris deadpanned.

That piqued Tristan's interest. The hovercraft hadn't picked her up yet? Did that mean that they were too close to the body? And what did that mean of her killer? Where had they gone? He hadn't been able to see anything, but now having a vague idea of where his two competitors were, he circled around one of the hills to avoid their gazes but perhaps manage to get a good look at them, and if his luck served him, a final look at Lyria. He managed to find an angle where the two tributes were easily seen, but should they look his way, he'd be ready to drop down in order to remain hidden.

Marris looked as if he were already in the early clutches of sleep, deep rings around his eyes and lids resting half shut over his grey eyes. His longish black curls hung around his face in a lank mess, mussed and tangled beyond management. Tristan couldn't recall the name of the young man who stood across from him, but he was easily recognizable and was in fact, the male tribute for District 2. A scowl twisted his features into something ugly and Tristan thought he could see waves of hate radiating from his form as he stared at something in the distance. Lyria's body wasn't anywhere close to them but it was easy enough to find, following the angry man's gaze.

There she was. Something stuck out of her chest, one of her hands was thrown back awkwardly and her leg looked disjointed, bent to the side in a way that was unnatural and painful to look at. Even from here, he could tell she was covered in blood. Those once beautiful curls were sprawled around her, covering her face, twisting around her neck and laid across the ground where she'd fallen, like he own personal veil of death.

Tristan looked away, the pain tightening in his chest just a little more at the sight.

He focused back on the two males, knowing they were the true problem right now. He could mourn her and look for Ryanne later - if didn't get caught and killed by these two first.

He witnessed the sick, twisted smile that crossed the tribute from District 2's face. It was vile, seeing someone take that much pleasure from the death of someone else. "Yeah, guess you're right," he said, his tone practically dripping in satisfaction. He turned to his partner. "Guess that means I don't need you anymore, now that little miss sunshine and company are out of commission."

Marris shrugged, as if it were no big dead. "No skin off my back," he drawled easily and promptly turned and walked away. Tristan was half expecting the kid from 2 to stab him while his back was turned, but he just followed at his own easy pace. They headed toward opposite ends of the opening forest, 2 away from Lyria's body and Marris towards. Marris stopped and looked her over, shook his head and continued on. This display left Tristan confused as he stood, finally abandoning his hiding spot.

None of it made much sense. What were they doing over in the hills? How had Lyria been caught out there of all places? Tristan supposed there could be reasonable explanations for any of the above, but there was one thing that still bothered him - where was the hovercraft and why hadn't it picked her up?

Resolve burrowed deeply into Tristan's chest and he set forward, towards the corpse rather than away like the reasonable side of him wanted. He didn't want to see that, did he? To see her lifeless eyes staring at everything and taking nothing in? To see her own blood splashed across her skin and clothes like paint on a canvas? But he had to because he had to know.

It took forever and yet no time at all to reach her. Up close, she looked even worse. He could see the hardened blood, an unsightly crust over her freckled flesh and he could see that the thing sticking out of her chest was an arrow.

And yet...

"What are you doing?"

"Playing dead."

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><p><strong>AN: Had you guys scared for a second there, huh?**

**Nah, she's not dead yet. Otherwise the story would be finished and we all know I'm not through with this. There are just way too many untapped opportunities. This is going to be fun!**

**So review! Tell me what you think! You love it? You hate it? How'd you feel about Ryanne's death scene? About how ballistic Lyria went? What are your theories on how this is going to end? How do you want me to end it. I take all into consideration when I write, so if you want it to end a certain way, tell me and you may get your wish. Ta ta, darlings. See you next chapter.**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey, guys. Thank you for all your lovely reviews and thank you to my personal friends who are giving me feedback on everything. Its really great to hear that you all are enjoying this story and all the little twists and turns, no matter how depressing. I hope you continue to enjoy.**

**As always, a big thank you to AnneSilverfire for her lovely, faithful reviews. I couldn't ask for a better fan.**

Chapter 11: Shaky Trusts

_"I'm a little traumatized right now. Maybe later."_

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><p><em>"What are you doing?"<em>

_"Playing dead."_

Tristan didn't think he'd ever been so happy to hear two words in all of his life. Sure, when he'd asked, he sounded confident and sure, but on the inside, he'd been a shaky mess, hoping for a reply that some part of him insisted he would never hear. But her voice was strong - not even wavering - and seemed almost... tangible. But still, some part of his conscious doubted her existence. Had she really spoken or was he just so desperate for her to be alive that he'd conjured up the sound of her voice and formed it to the words he figured most typical of her?

This fear was broken quickly when one hand, the one that had been awkwardly splayed above her head at an uncomfortable angle, came to brush the hair out of her eyes, revealing a perfectly vital face. Without the hair in the way, it was like the entire guise of death had abandoned her. Even the blood looked innocuous. But then again, blood never really is. But still, she looked strong, healthy and _alive_.

He really wasn't exaggerating when he'd said that even an emotionless glare would be a welcome sight from her, but the shaky smile she gave him instead was so much more rewarding. "So what're you doing?"

Wasn't it obvious? Tristan bit back any sarcasm, trying to keep her mood up. She was alive and she wasn't attempting to kill him. Hell, she was smiling at him. There was no way he was going to mess this up by saying the wrong thing if he could help it, so he grinned and said, "I was looking for you, actually. You and Ryanne."

Apparently, even a conscious effort couldn't keep him from saying the wrong thing around her. That tentative smile vanished and her face hardened into a mask that Tristan had begun to recognize. It was a signature look for when she was upset and revealed nothing.

He barely heard her when she muttered, "You're going to be looking for a long time then."

Tristan's brain, slowed by the noxious fumes of happiness, took a second to catch up with her. He didn't understand what she meant; he'd already found her. Here she was, safe and sound. Talking to him, giving him grins that made him feel stupid and living. He wasn't sure when he'd grown so attached to her presence - maybe when she talked about her family, maybe when he saved her or maybe when she saved Ryanne - but just the fact that she was sitting here, converting oxygen to carbon dioxide was enough to make him forget where he was and what was going on around him momentarily.

And then her face and the blood and the situation clicked and all his happiness faded into a numb shock. Finding Lyria was great but there was no way it would overshadow the loss of his cousin, someone he had shared blood and kin with for his entire laugh. She was more like an annoying little sister than a cousin, but he loved her... and she was gone.

Lyria was obviously feeling this loss deeply, too, because that mask she wore cracked a little as tears began to fall.

Tristan had never been good with girls and crying. Whenever it was Ryanne, he'd hug her and tell her he'd kick someone's ass if she needed him to and she'd laugh and that would be that for then. When it had been Briza, he'd take her on a walk and let her talk and cry herself out. He left his mother be. He'd had years to figure out their patterns, though, and their emotional needs. Even then, he'd always been sure he was doing something wrong by them. It made him uncomfortable, but he also couldn't stand it.

He was torn on what to do; leave her be, try to comfort her or try to coax her into talking about it. Only, he really didn't want to hear about it. If he didn't know, he could pretend she went gently or quickly, without any pain or suffering.

Tristan was saved from making the wrong decision when he shifted a little closer to her and she flinched away, looking as if he'd just taken a hand to her. Her wide blue eyes reflected pain and mistrust and he was brought back to the last moment before she'd lost consciousness after the acid rain incident. The emotions were nearly identical, only, this time, the pain wasn't physical; it ran so much deeper. And the mistrust dragged a line between them.

The older boy put his hands up in a showing of surrender. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him or anyone. "I'm really not here to hurt you, Lyria," he said cautiously, trying to gauge her reaction. It wasn't good from the way her whole body seemed to shimmer into a defensive position.

A sound caught her attention and her head whipped towards it. It was almost funny, how alert she looked - like a watchdog.

It was amusing until he heard an enraged shout and turned to see what she was looking at. Standing at the edge of the wooded portion was an extremely pissed male tribute. One whom Tristan knew had a personal vendetta against Lyria. "I think you might want to get going-" he started, turning back to face her, but the spot she'd occupied just a moment ago was empty. "The hell...?" Tristan uttered, looking around wildly for a moment. He almost thought she'd just vanished into thin air, but was able to get a glimpse of her running towards the woods in the opposite direction that her fellow District 2 man was coming from and man was she moving.

Tristan was caught between disbelief and laughter. "She left me," he breathed, astonishment coating his tone. "She fucking left me," he repeated, this time with a touch of laughter. It was sort of hilarious, really. He never would've expected that from a girl willing to endure acid burns for someone else.

Just went to show that Lyria's loyalty had to be earned and he wasn't there yet.

A flash of golden red and she was gone from sight, disappearing from sight like a deer through the forest. A moment later, Tristan realized that District 2 wasn't bearing down on the little doe of a girl like he would have expected, based on what he'd seen earlier. No, he had slowed a little at her quick escape, obviously amazed that not only was she alive but she was able enough to practically fly across the field at a speed Tristan wasn't sure could be reached by man before today. But seeing her disappear before he'd even made it half way back to them, he obviously figured it would be pointless to try and chase her down and had began to run at Tristan himself.

Tristan swore, shifted the bag onto his shoulders and began to run for his life. It wasn't that he was afraid but he didn't figure fighting a person with so much anger would be a good plan, especially with the speed at which he was hurtling towards him. So Tristan ran, suddenly very happy he'd spent the last couple days doing a bit of terrain scouting. It gave him a slight advantage when trying to outrun his competitor.

The older boy had to take care to steer clear of Lyria's camp, lest she choose to come back at some point. He definitely didn't want that sadist to know where she slept at night.

After a lot of running up and down the hills, the heavy footfalls that had been helping Tristan keep track of his pursuer began to slow and fall behind considerably, getting a little slower on every incline. This pushed Tristan further, trying to put as much distance between them as he could before he died of exhaustion. It was only a little longer until he heard another shout of frustration and the pursuing steps ceased completely. Tristan turned back to see the boy, red-faced, obviously pissed off and doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Tristan was just as winded but tried not to let it show. He just smiled at the boy who was a good fourth of a mile away from him, and gestured for him to come on - inviting him to try and chase him again. It was a bluff; if Tristan had to run anymore, especially up another slope, he might just let the guy catch up and put him out of his misery.

But the other guy bought it. Giving one of the more hateful glares Tristan had ever been on the receiving end of, he picked himself back up and began walking back towards the trees, maybe to look for Lyria or maybe just to find someplace to rest. Tristan snorted; if he was going to try and get Lyria, he was going to be up for another game of chase, one the District 7 male thought he had no chance at winning. With this in mind, he felt a little better about not following after him for the moment.

Tristan flopped down right where he was, hoping a more cunning tribute wasn't anywhere nearby. His head was pounding with every stutter of his heart that seemed to be struggling to find a suitable rhythm and his legs lost all strength as the adrenaline that had coursed though him faded.

For a while, he just sat there too tired to think about anything past, "Breathe in? Okay, that worked. Breath out? Oh good, that worked too."

He shut his eyes to concentrate on his breathing and quelling the fire currently burning through his lungs and legs and after a while, when the fire burned down to embers and breathing became natural again, events of the day began to replay themselves. The panic of not being able to find either girl and fearing both were dead, followed closely by the anger caused by the District 2 boy and the horror at finding Lyria dead. The next moment, however, stuck in his mind, looping over and over again behind his eyelids.

_"What are you doing?"_

_"Playing dead."_

It reeled through his mind several times but he never tired of it. The relief and happiness that filled him at the sound of her voice and the joy her smile caused him. Those gorgeous blue gems friendly, if only for the moment.

Replaying his day brought up thoughts of Lyria's well-being. It had been perhaps two hours since he turned around and found her tiny frame missing from his side. Based on her speed and light stature, he doubted the guy from 2 would've been able to catch up with her by this point so unless she'd walked right into another tribute, she was probably fine. And there'd been no cannon shots since they'd separated; another great sign. They'd all adjusted well enough to the dark arena by now that it shouldn't be a problem for her to maneuver her way through the shadows.

A light pressure on his chest jerked him into awareness and he sat up quickly, displacing the weight effortlessly. He looked around frantically for another tribute but the only thing to suggest anything out of the ordinary was a metallic clanking noise to his right. Following his ears, he spotted a grey metal canister, the parachute that had dropped it right into his lap wound around it like a blanket.

Tristan wasted no time in scrambling for the gift and opening it. He was grateful to see the inside had food and a little plastic covered cup held a sweet juice. Bread, broth and a little bowl of pudding. Tristan could only imagine what this must have cost and couldn't help the cynical thought that appeared in his head that said that this late in the games, any sponsors he'd collected on his own wouldn't have had a chance in hell at affording something like this. He strongly suspected his showing of care for Lyria had contributed to this wonderful gift of food and drink. As such, he promised he'd save some for her since it was partially her doing.

Tristan was surprised to find a little note taped to the bottom of the juice glass. Anyone who'd ever seen the Hunger Games could tell you all contact to the outside world was erased inside the arena. It confirmed his thoughts, though;

_Welcome to her team~ Anonymous Benefactor_

_Her team_. Lyria's team, obviously. But who was this anonymous benefactor and how the hell had he managed to get a note inside that canister without being noticed? Was it her mentor? Tristan didn't have any other guesses but the mentor didn't seem any likelier an idea than a person off the street of the Capitol. He cared for Lyria - that much had been made obvious when he'd lead her away from the room during the interviews. Which is exactly why he would never send that note. As long as Lyria didn't trust him, neither would her mentor and he wouldn't risk not being there for his tribute should she need him.

So if not him, then who? There was the other mentor whom the boy from 2 had claimed preferred her, but he seemed even less likely than her mentor. Tristan had no earthly idea but figured it was the least of his issues. For now, eat, find Lyria.

So that's what he did.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Riven couldn't believe his day. Heart attacks galore for him. No wonder Lecks didn't want her. He checked his hair after he was sure she would be safe and wasn't surprised to find that some had gone grey near the roots. Lecks' hair might actually start falling out if he had to watch Lyria's every move because the majority of the moves she'd made were stupid ones.

Mistake number one - going for the pack at the Cornucopia. For one, her approaching the Cornucopia had been a horrible, horrible idea and he'd had heart palpatations from the second he realized that was where she was going, his and Ryanne's suggestions be damned. Stubborn as a mule, that girl, and a little prideful. Riven was just glad to see one of the tributes he'd thought was going to be one of her greatest threats turned out to be one of her best allies - even if she didn't know that.

Mistake number two - not killing that girl when she'd had the chance. Not that Riven could particularly blame her for that one; regardless of how he had come to think of her, she was still a little girl. It wasn't surprising she had reservations about killing - especially people who seemed completely harmless. Just the same, if she'd knifed the girl when she had a chance, it would've distracted the mutts from her and Ryanne long enough for escape.

Mistake number three - that move with the mutt mauling Ryanne. If she'd missed, she would have been so royally screwed, especially with her light weight and build. No way she would've been strong enough to get the dog/rabbit off of herself.

Regardless of the fact that it worked and probably saved Ryanne's life, it was still a huge mistake. If she got out alive, he was going to rip her a new one.

Mistake number four - giving Ryanne her only cover from the acidic rain. If he wouldn't have done the exact same thing, he'd still be seething about that dumb-assery right there. She had been nearly naked under the fall of toxic rain. Granted, he hadn't realized just how much acid was in the acid rain until her skin had gone from irritated to practically melting. Yeah, he was definitely mad about that move, but it had doubled her number in sponsors over night, many of which were small pools from 7 and all of which had gone right towards that quick healing salve. He would spare no expense for her.

Mistake number five - leaving Ryanne. As far as mistakes went, it had been one of the more minor ones and hadn't had overall terrible results. She'd even acknowledged a quasi camaraderie with Tristan. Though that seemed to be in suspension right now.

Mistake number six - going back into that damn forest in the first place. Coming up with an offensive strategy that she knew was likely to get her or Ryanne killed. And if he knew Lyria, she was counting on it being her, not Ryanne. Which leads to mistake number seven - not striking first. If she attempted to throw before the girl shot, she might have dodged and run off; she was certainly flighty enough for it.

But mistake number seven set off a chain reaction of what Riven considered to be her three brightest moments in the Games so far. Pulling out the part of her that was angry and hurt and just so sick of everything, she didn't care anymore, she'd managed her first kill, showing she was a force to be reckoned with and that she could do what was needed of her to survive. And the remorse she showed after the fact was just the icing on the cake - desperate to survive, but not a mindless killer. It might be horrible to think like that - to think of Lyria's humanity as some sort of ploy for sponsors and supporters - but that was just how Capitol people thought and to win a Game run by the Capitol, one had to become the Capitol.

And then her whole playing dead bit had been genius, if flawed. In all his years, he couldn't remember someone ever thinking to fake their own death to escape the sights of other surviving tributes. A stroke of brilliance. Lecks had definitely been right about her strengths in the beginning; she was a born liar.

Finally, she'd run. She realized she was outclassed in the fight and straight out ran away from Aiden.

Aiden...

Riven had noticed the boy's hostility towards Lyria as the days progressed towards the Games, but he'd originally thought he was just trying to distance and steel himself in case it came down to just him and her. Riven never would have imagined the hostility was a sign of the hate that had seeded inside the older tribute. In Aiden's mind, Riven saw, Lyria had become the victor the moment she stepped out of line to take her place on the stage. He was angry about being robbed of his life and had naturally set out to destroy what he perceived to be the problem.

The worst part was that Riven couldn't hate the kid because he wasn't wrong. Lyria had enough sponsors to run an entire District for the winter and Aiden barely had enough to get a loaf of bread - and Lecks was using it sparingly as time went by and prices went up. He'd lost District sponsors after showing his true colors about the young tribute but gained Capitol supporters - nothing to cheer about. Those sick bastards always loved a good personal vendetta.

But as worried as Riven was about Aiden's growing dislike of the girl, he was more interested in Tristan - or, more accurately, interested in Tristan's interest in Lyria.

The Capitol had been kind enough to cast him as a heroic white-knight type who wanted to save his damsel, even if it meant sacrificing himself, which the people ate up. You couldn't walk ten paces down the street without hearing one or both names these days. Some went as far as to presume he was completely smitten with her while others cast him as a concerned older brother. Riven, himself, was leaning towards a mix of the two with a much heavier influence of the former.

Regardless of Tristan's feelings for her, whether they be friendly and platonic or... more, it was clear he cared for her on some level. And it was also clear that Lyria was struggling with whether she should trust him or not. Some part of her wanted to, Riven knew, but another part kept flashing back to some of his sketchier moments. Which, from his third-person view, he could tell were almost all for her benefit as well.

Riven suspected that Tristan was genuinely trying to help, even if he hadn't gone about it the best way for this particular girl.

Still... that note he'd gotten with his gift made Riven nervous.

Someone else was obviously trying to play puppeteer here and that could be very bad. If it was Snow, who was the only person in all of Panem who could get a note into the arena without risking his personal health, then perhaps Tristan wasn't as safe as he thought. But what if it were someone else?

Riven sat back in his seat, thinking about the note and theorizing who could have possibly written it. He had an idea but it was far-fetched. Still...

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria stared down with wide blue eyes. Ryanne had said puppies and bunnies would be what made up her nightmares, but Lyria hadn't expected it to be so close to the truth. The sight before her would certainly constitute for nightmares later. Which was somewhat ironic, considering this was one of the lesser horrible things she'd seen in the last couple days.

She'd been up the tree for lord knows how long. She couldn't even begin to guess with the aid of the clock which still rested in her pocket. It had to be hours. And she hadn't come across anything dangerous until after she was safely up in the branches. Lyria had settled herself on a particularly thick branch which she straddled in order to keep a good balance. If Ryanne were there, she would have questioned how Lyria even got up there, knowing how minor the younger girl's upper body strength was. The truth was, there were small branches that could only support someone about Lyria's weight.

However, the clock in her pocket, which Lyria had come to associate as_ Ryanne's watch,_ pulsed against her side at the memory. Thinking about Ryanne hurt Lyria deeply. Chalk it up to abandonment issues (Lyria certainly did) but she felt as if she'd been left behind once again.

It helped ease the pain that Ryanne hadn't planned on going anywhere - that she hadn't planned on leaving Lyria behind, to fend for herself - but she was still left with the gnawing feeling of resentment towards the girl from District 7. It was unfair, it was illogical and it made her feel guilty to even think like that, but she couldn't help it. They always left, didn't they?

But something was different this time.

A movement caught her attention, finally tearing her eyes away from the horrific sight. Her head swiveled toward this welcome distraction, nearly rocking her off the tree branch with how eager she was to avert her eyes. The movement was a person which froze Lyria in place for a moment until she took in the features of the person. It was obviously a male, unshaven dark stubble trailing down a strong jaw, dark hair a little shaggy, curling around the edges and a rock hard physique that grabbed attention, especially as it stretched against his shirt. Tristan.

And he was walking right towards her, right towards her tree and, by extension, a painful death. He'd saved her once and though she didn't trust him, she didn't feel he deserved that kind of gruesome end. "Stop walking right now," she commanded, her voice steady and just loud enough to be heard.

Tristan froze where he was, his eyes trailing up the tree to find the source of the warning. And what should he find but the very little lady he'd been looking for, perched right up in a tree, safe from harm as far as he could see. She wasn't looking at him, though. Her gaze was directed a couple feet in front of him, in the direction he'd been walking. Following her line of sight, he saw mangled corpses of what looked like a rabbit and a wolf. The wolf's head was nearly completely severed from it's body and Tristan could see all the muscles and veins ripped apart, blood spilling from the neck. One of it's legs was missing, as well, and the fur was singed all the way to the skin. The rabbit had once been white, Tristan thought, but was now painted red black by its own blood and whatever had caused its death. The legs were charred little nubs and both it's ears were gone. Tristan was thinking explosion.

Oh, how convenient that Lyria had decided now would be the time to repay him for his little bout of heroics on the first day in the arena. That was awesome timing right there.

He looked back up at her and found her piercing blues trained on him. "Thanks for that," he said, making sure he was loud enough to be heard. She gave a short nod but gave no reply otherwise, leaving Tristan to wonder where the urge to save his life came in. However, he wasn't about to examine a gift too closely. Instead, he asked, "Are you alright?"

The redhead cocked her head to the side, her matted curls falling to the side at the motion. Lyria eyed him with a severe intensity, studying him, dissecting him. He'd seen signs of great intelligence from her before but this solemn look she was giving him, perfectly detached and observational, shattered any illusion he'd had in the beginning about her being some silly girl from 2. Yes, she was a child and sometimes, she allowed herself to act like it, but on the inside, there was a very wise woman who was calculating carefully.

Lyria wasn't sure she could trust him but she couldn't help feeling that she should. That was the difference that Lyria felt; that Ryanne hadn't left her completely alone but in the care of Tristan. Maybe that was what she left for Lyria when she'd gone. "Bodily, I'm fine. Mentally... well, I'm not hurling, crying, or in shock so I guess I'm as good as it gets in here."

Tristan had to admit that her reply amused him and the fact that she gave one aloud filled him with hope that maybe she could learn to trust him after all. So he tried again. "You wanna come down from there?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "I promise I won't bite."

"I'm a little traumatized right now. Maybe later."

Tristan could accept a maybe later. It was progress, at least. He nodded and peered around to take in his surroundings. He was in a small area where the trees were a little less dense and tall. The ground was completely overturned, the grass buried under the uprooted dirt and bark on the trees closest to the bodies of the dog and rabbit were blackened. He looked back up at her and asked, "Do you, by any chance, know what happened here?"

"Mines, I think," she called down in reply. "I was already up in the tree when it happened. There was a rustling sound and I turned in time to see the little white rabbit dash out of the bushes, closely followed by the wolf. When the wolf stepped about... there," she pointed to a point about ten feet from both bodies, "there was an explosion - lots of smoke, so I didn't see what happened during it. I heard the wolf... nevermind. Anyhow, I look down and I see what you see now. Haven't moved since."

Tristan couldn't blame her. If there was one mine, there were probably more. He was just glad she'd been kind enough to warn him. "Well thank you, Lyria. I think you might have just saved my skin... as well as the rest of me."

Lyria shrugged, a jaunty little movement that involved her shoulders rising and slumping in such quick succession, it looked as though her body had seized up and she fixed him with a little half-grin. "You would have done the same for me."

He smiled wider. "Yes, I would have."

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><p><strong>AN: Yay! Chapter 11 is finished!**

**Alright, next chapter's where it's probably going to get really complicated and that could very well mean a slow post - sorry about that. That, plus the fact that I'll have no time to work on it the rest of this weekend makes it a total bummer. So, just in case, I apologize.**

**Now! Onto the ritual begging for reviews! What do you think of Lyria? Of Tristan? What are your thoughts on Aiden? Who do you think is going to win the Games? How do you predict I will end this? What would you like to see more of? See less of? Let me know! Please, for the love of Lyria! I must know!**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
><strong>

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This is the second longest Fanfiction of my account and currently has the third most reviews. Also, last chapter made the most reviews yet -wanna see if we can break that record? Thank you to everyone who reads this! I appreciate the support you have for this story so much!**

**Thank you.**

**Alright, I have a response for anon reviewer yo real quick. Regarding Ryanne's death - she died of bleeding out. The arrow was no where near her heart or lungs, and in fact, she could have survived this wound if the arena hadn't left her so weak and one major artery hadn't been punctured. Therefore, with her lungs and heart in tact, she was able to sustain herself long enough to tell Lyria the entire story and breathe completely normally. Sorry for not clarifying that in the beginning.**

**And thank you to yo** **for the wonderful reviews. I so enjoy reading them - they make me think about what I'm writing and how it is perceived.**

Chapter 12: How to Save a Life

_"What the actual fuck?"_

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><p>Snow was in a rage.<p>

His newest assistant, Burkett Henley, followed after him as he headed towards his office. His mansion was a large building and Burkett hadn't quite figured out the total layout yet, but he knew the route from Snow's personal chambers to his office by now - Snow had been flying back and forth between the two for days now, trying to get news on this one contestant and simultaneously trying to get a lead on who was helping her.

It didn't help that she was so popular, Burkett decided. Snow banged open his office door with an incredible showing of anger. No one could boast seeing the Capitol ruler so frantic and so without self-restraint. Burkett couldn't say he was pleased to be the first. The man was so collected normally and to see him shuck his calm exterior was like watching someone shrug off their skin; unnerving, disturbing and horrifying. Not to mention scary. Burkett was half afraid of being executed for writing too slow or scribbling too much.

The older man sank behind his desk and began leafing through papers, looking for something with vigor. Burkett cowered behind his clipboard, recording everything the President said, even if it was total gibberish. He would not be caught not doing his job today - not if he wanted to see tomorrow.

Snow muttered to himself as he continued shuffling the papers and Burkett was able to pick a bit of it up. "Just a child... dangerous... needs to be dealt with..." The rest was lost to the assistant as heavy breathing, prolonged sighs and mutterings that made even less sense permeated the string of voiced thoughts. Burkett jotted down what he could and left well enough alone what he couldn't.

"Henley!" Snow suddenly snapped, causing the young man's head to jerk up and look at the President immediately. He saw the wild sheen in the older man's eyes and thought that he shouldn't get any closer for his own personal safety, but not daring to defy the President's direct orders. With great caution, his clipboard clutched against his chest as if to block a blow, he crept forward, careful not to move to quickly. He knew the man was dangerous. After all, a quick ascension to power rarely means an honest ascension. "Do you notice a pattern here?" Snow asked.

Spread out across the desk were different files for a myriad of people. Henley didn't know who they were supposed to be or what importance they might have until he looked at the occupation of the first woman's file - Gamemaker. A quick scan across the rest revealed they were all Gamemakers. And directly next to all their files was a number. "They're Gamemakers, sir," Burkett answered, not quite sure what kind of answer Snow was looking for.

"Yes, I know that," Snow said snappishly. "They are the Gamemakers of this year's Games. I have pulled the profiles of those who gave Lyria high scores and then pulled and rearranged until I found a pattern. Read the personals section."

Burkett felt odd about reading about someone else's life, let alone their personal information. But he suspected a bullet through the chest or head would make him feel even odder so he read and read, leafing through profiles until he finally caught onto the pattern. And the pattern made him sick. He was tempted to lie - say he saw no pattern at all - but he just couldn't. He had worked his entire life for this position and wasn't about to lose it or his life because of someone else.

"The pattern is they all have children, sir," Burkett confirmed, leaning back, away from the desk and straightening himself. "The Gamemakers who gave Lyria extremely high scores all have children, many of which are... underage."

By which, he mean't for the Hunger Games.

Snow nodded, a satisfied smile replacing his grim look from before. He turned around and pressed a button on his desk. The window that looked over Panem flashed and a live streaming of the Games came into view and on the screen was an image of the very girl who was the root of all the problems. Ever since she was selected, profit from other Districts had dropped, work had slowed and there were more shows of defiance every day. By her survival alone, she was wreaking more havoc than an entire rebelling District could. Snow couldn't have that. "Henley, write this down," Snow ordered, his back still turned to Burkett. Burkett raised his pen at the ready and began to jot things down as he spoke. "I, President Snow, hereby order the executions of Gamemakers Harker Rechart, Addison Monroe, Kaster Mays, Easton Jones and Heather Hawking. Effective immediately."

Burkett nodded and turned, not so much as hesitating to follow his orders. If it was them or him, it would be them.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Lyria was having a little trouble getting down from her tree. Branches kept shifting weirdly under her feet and Tristan staring up at her with that worried expression on his face wasn't helping. The fact that he was standing under her with his arms outstretched, totally ready to catch her if she needed him to did, though. However, she really wasn't looking forward to falling. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked for the billionth time.

Lyria heaved an aggravated sigh. "How many time do I have to tell you? I've got it!" she snapped. And only a half second later, so did the branch she had been using to lower herself to the ground. Lyria only had a millisecond to process this before she was hurtling towards Tristan and the ground.

Oh, karma at it's finest.

Luckily, Tristan had been completely ready for this and easily caught her, only staggering a little against her weight's sudden presence. Lyria had been braced to feel hard arms crushed against her but was pleasantly surprised when the muscle he'd built up actually cushioned her fall a little and kept her from the agony of bony frame hitting bony arms. She'd had that happen before when she fell off of a ladder and landed on one of the sons of her employer. He had been tall and skinny and possibly more uncomfortable to land on than the floor would have been.

Tristan set her down, making no remark about her snapping at him or how she'd been wrong, but the little smirk he wore and the eyebrow raised at her said all that he didn't and irked her just as much. "Oh, shut up!" she snapped again, glaring up at him. Funny, he hadn't seemed that tall before. His shoulders began to shake a little and Lyria had a strong urge to send him somewhere where she'd never have to see him again. The moon sounded promising.

Tristan took a moment to compose himself before he began digging into his pack and pulled out a capsule that looked similar to the ones Lyria had received periodically through the Games, only larger. He opened it and took out a container full of broth and a half a loaf of bread. Lyria's mouth watered at the sight. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, but knowing it belonged to him, she hid her hunger and the lust that had taken over her stomach at the sight. Was any of her food still where she'd left it? She'd never made it back to check.

When he offered it to her, even Lyria, an esteemed liar, couldn't hide her shock. "It's yours," she argued, pushing the offering back towards him, ignoring the voice inside her that said she was being stupid.

Tristan didn't give up though. "Actually, I think it's by your doing that I got this," he said, which took Lyria back for a moment. What could she have possibly done for him that earned him food and her nothing? "So I think it's only right that you get half. Which means that this," he shook the bowl or broth at her a little bit, repeating the movement with the bread, "is yours."

Lyria couldn't help a grateful smile, echoed by the small growling sound her stomach made as she got a good whiff of the broth, and she accepted both. They sat down and Tristan handed over the glass of juice that was still half full.

Though she couldn't say it aloud, she was impressed by his self-restraint. Had anyone else in these Games received a gift like this, she couldn't imagine them giving up even a piece to someone else, let alone saving half for someone who had shown little better than contempt for them. Lyria suddenly felt bad for wishing she could send him to the moon. She rather liked him being here on Earth after all. "Thank you," she said, ripping off a piece of bread to give back to him. He hadn't eaten in a while either, she knew. He'd had to wait nearly five hours for her to decide to climb down from the tree. He accepted it with a smile and ate it in two bites.

"No problem," he replied after he swallowed, waving off her offer for the remainder of juice still in the bottom of the glass. "There's more," he said, pulling out the little bowl of pudding. Over half of it was left; thinking of how thin she was had curbed his appetite. However, the smile that lit up her face at the sight of the little bowl was completely worth anything he missed out on.

When he offered it to her, she agreed to take it, but only if he agreed to take some too. Lyria couldn't eat it all herself in good conscious, knowing he didn't have to do this for her. He agreed at her insistence and they shared the pudding in silence.

After they finished the meal, Tristan packed all the containers back up, thinking that they might be able to use them if they came across something edible later. When he looked up, though, Lyria was staring at him unabashedly, something akin to curiosity displayed on her face, one pink lip held in the confines of her teeth. Tristan wasn't used to this. Between him and Lyria, there'd always been mistrust or a temporary camaraderie or fear, but through any of those, she'd always covered her emotions. Never before had she displayed them so openly in front of him and he was at a bit of a loss.

A full minute passed and she said nothing. Another minute had him completely unnerved. A third minute had him wishing she would avert her eyes from him. It felt like she was reading him like a book. He cleared his throat and asked, "Is there something you want to say or, er, ask me?"

For a second, it didn't seem like she was going to answer; like she was just going to sit there, gorgeous blues trained on him for the rest of eternity. But after another moment, she broke her long gaze, her eyes wavering to the forest floor. Tristan felt relieved; the weight was crushing. A slight and bitter smile had made it's way onto her lips. "Not that I'm ungrateful or anything," she said softly to the earth, "but what are you doing here?"

Tristan had wondered the same thing. "I promised Ryanne I would help her protect you. If she's gone, then it's up to me."

"There's no 'if' about it," Lyria muttered.

Tristan didn't like her tone or the way that she'd gone from staring at him to not being able to look in his direction in less than a couple moments. He'd decided he didn't want to know, but if it helped Lyria at all... "What happened? With Ryanne?" he asked, trying to keep his voice in check. He was fairly impressed with how calm and level he sounded. "How did she... you know...?"

Lyria sighed, her gaze swinging towards him just slightly, lips quirking to form a sarcastic smile - one of the more genuine things he'd seen from her all night. "She was killed. I'd rather not talk about it."

The boy across from her felt a little bit of indignation rise in his chest at that, though it was almost shadowed over completely by relief. No, he didn't want to hear a word regarding Ryanne's death. He was still hoping for the best possible for his dear cousin. But what if he had? What if he had wanted to know exactly what had happened to her? Who was this girl to keep that from him? Who was she to guilt him for asking? Lyria had known Ryanne a little over a week - Tristan had known her his entire life. She was more like a sister than a cousin! But the look on her face quelled the argumentative brute in him that wanted to drag it out of her. He may have known Ryanne longer, maybe even cared for her more, but she'd meant a lot to Lyria too.

Tristan sighed, sweeping a hand through his unkempt hair, feeling tired and emotionally drained. He didn't feel like fighting with her right now. "Alright."

Lyria nodded gratefully, still staring at the ground. Every time she thought of Ryanne, it hurt. The pocket watch seemed to weight a thousand pounds, and yet, Lyria couldn't bring herself to rid herself of the wretched thing. Ryanne had liked the pocket watch so it stayed.

All of a sudden, Tristan stood and began walking away. A weird panic seized up inside Lyria, her eyes tracking his movements but her mouth gaping open helplessly, as if her jaw had become totally unhinged. Before any conscious thought had been made to actually ask the question, she had blurted, "Wait! Where are you going?" in a weirdly high voice. She hadn't meant to sound frightened but she was. So, so, so scared. Not of these woods or the tributes or the beasties hiding in the dark. She was scared of being left alone again.

Tristan turned his head and gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back. I have to... erm..." Was it weird the way he was blushing and stammering was really rather adorable to Lyria? He cleared his throat and said, "Well, eh, nature calls."

Lyria's mouth popped open into an 'O' shape. Now her panic seemed a little silly and unfounded. "Oh. Well... yeah. Go... do that," she said awkwardly, her usual eloquence having been trampled - half by embarrassment, half by her realization that she cared if Tristan left or not. He chuckled and he disappeared between two trees.

It was comforting knowing that he'd be coming back, but still, Lyria was set on the edge of her nerves, ready to spring up at any second. Lyria briefly wondered where this panicky, twitchy persona was coming from. She'd always been calm and level headed before. But a snapping sound put an end to any and all thought as she gazed through the partially moon-lit area. Lyria didn't see any large mutt forms or hear anything else, and she didn't see any male forms that didn't look like Tristan creeping from the dark. However, there was one shadow that was shifting... weirdly.

Lyria watched it, eyes wide as saucers as it shifted, flowing darkly within the shadow like oil. A couple things came to mind. "Run" was a reoccuring one, but leaving without Tristan was looking less and less attractive.

The thing, whatever it was, shifted again, brought to life by a slight scraping sound. Lyria's breath hitched and her vocal chords locked up. For a second, she'd been convinced she was just imagining the whole thing - that the shadow within a shadow was a trick her mind was playing on her because it was dark and she was spooked - but there was no way that her mind would create the sound that followed the scraping; an eerie gnashing sound.

Oily black slid through shadows only marginally lighter, coming towards her. Lyria stood quickly, muscles tensed to run for it as she watched the blackness slink around. Suddenly, it lunged forward, ungracefully, into the little light that the moon cast, revealing itself to the young girl.

Lyria almost vomited at the sight before her. Her vocal chords managed to unlock for a second to admit a high, bloodcurdling scream that cut off abruptly.

Because what was before her was the wolf. The wolf that had been blown up. It slunk forward on it's three legs, patches of open skin already crawling in maggots. But that wasn't the worst part. It's head, which was nearly severed completely in the explosion, lolled to the side, nearly parallel with it's shoulder, but the eyes were open and glowing bright yellow. And the gnashing sound that first spoke of this nightmare was coming from it's jaw, which it worked mechanically, looking as if it were trying to tear into the air with it's teeth.

Lyria choked back bile, turned on her heel and ran.

She vaguely heard it - that thing behind her was running after her, it's three legs beating a weird rhythm onto the forest floor and making a sound that was more like a violent cough than a bark. Lyria pushed her legs faster and glanced behind herself to see where it was - and wished she hadn't.

The image of the head bouncing against it's body, the tendons that held it tethered to the body straining against it's weight, was one she could have lived without for the rest of her life. Lyria had never seen something so sadistic from the Gamemakers before. From crazed tributes desperate for survival? Yes. From Gamemakers, whose only job was to make the Games interesting? This was a little over the top. Not to mention sickening.

"What the actual fuck?" she rasped to herself.

Being dead obviously had done nothing to decrease the wolf's stamina and hey! The esophagus wasn't even attached so no breathing required. Which Lyria considered to be an unfair advantage because her lungs felt as if they were about to shrivel up and die. But it began to fall behind as she dodged trees, the missing leg hard to compensate for on turns. It was a relief when Lyria looked back and saw it trying to hobble around a tree at about half the speed it'd been going before she added in obstacles.

The small redhead was thankful to be a biped by the time she broke into a small clearing and saw nothing of the risen dead wolf tracking her anymore. But looking back while running forward has some inherent flaws by design. For one, running into things, which is just what Lyria did - face first.

Luckily for the young girl, it wasn't a tree, which could have knocked her out cold at the speed she was running. More lucky, she'd run into a wall of muscle which, as she had mentioned before, was much more comfortable to crash into than bone. She peeled herself away from the bulky frame. "Tristan!" she gasped, her voice coming out wispy and panic stricken. "The-the wo-lf! It's n-not dead! Well it is but-" Lyria trailed off, horrified.

Because she hadn't run into Tristan. Because the wall of muscle wasn't lean enough to be Tristan's and the light brown hair certainly didn't belong to the roguish boy she had a shaky almost-alliance with. No, this muscle was cut too well and his hair too kept - and his eyes too malicious. His smile was also uninhibited as he reached out and clasped her shoulders to keep her from backing away any farther than she already had. "Well look what we have here," the male tribute rumbled. "I was kind of hoping you'd survive long enough for me to find you."

Lyria's eyes widened, panic racing through her veins with every nervous pump of her heart. She was already well aware of Aiden's issues with her; Tristan had made sure of that. But the girl couldn't begin to fathom what Bron wanted with her.

The girl tried to jerk back, out of his grasp, but his fingers only tightened on her shoulder, digging into her skin and bruising. "Hey, where you going?" Bron asked, sounding confused. Lyria looked up at him for a second, just as confused as he sounded. His eyebrows were drawn together, but his brown eyes themselves had gone vacant. It occurred to her that he looked sick, too. Like, really sick. She tried to jerk back again but he shook his head and pulled her back to him. "No, you gotta stay and fight me," he said and Lyria became acutely aware of the slur in his words. "You can't just walk away. I gotta win the Hunger Games and go home and take care of my sister."

Lyria, realizing there was something seriously wrong with him, stayed where she was this time, swallowing the large lump that had formed in her throat with great difficulty. She tried a different tactic, hoping she would get better results; "Why do you have to take care of your sister?"

Bron blinked, confused for a second, staring down at Lyria as if she was the single most confusing thing in the world before he slowly said, "She's pregnant. That good-for-nothing left her alone and she's gonna have a baby." A sleepy looking smile appeared on Bron's face. "I'm gonna have a niece or nephew soon."

Lyria felt bad for him. She was beginning to recognize symptoms from his current state - the difficulty he was having focusing, the way he was unable to keep from speaking his thoughts aloud and the apparent wooziness. If she was right, he wouldn't live long enough to see his niece or nephew, even if he did succeed in killing her. Hell, he probably wouldn't last the night and any effort spent on killing her would only speed up the process. He'd gotten a good dose of a poison called Vesiris, if she was right. It was often found in a rare muttation of a snake that presided mostly in District 2, but occasionally found itself set into one of the arenas. Lyria was willing to bet that if she looked for it, she would find a snake bite somewhere on his body.

"It's too bad," Bron said, swaying a little bit. "I was kind of looking forward to killing you and I can't even enjoy it now!"

Lyria looked him straight in the eye and said, "Well, I'm not going to enjoy this at all."

Bron's eyebrows drew in even closer together and he stared down at her as steadily as he could. "Whaddya mean?" he slurred, his lucidity slipping all the more every second that passed. Without any warning, his nose spurted a thick, sticky red. He noticed as it dripped down onto his shirt and dabbed at his nose for a second, pulling his hand back to examine it. It took much longer for him to register the blood than it should have. His expression abruptly turned angry. "What did you do to me ya little bitch?" he demanded to know, unaware that blood had gathered in his mouth and was now dribbling down his chin.

Lyria suddenly jerked back just as an odd sound permeated the air - an odd coughing bark that Lyria was sure would haunt her for the rest of her natural born life. This time, she was freed and not a moment too soon. She stumbled back with the force she'd launched herself away from him and saw the wolf's body hit the chest of the boy - where she'd just been standing less than five seconds before.

Her vision went spotty as she fell back and knocked her head against a tree. Black and bursts of color warred for the dominant parts of her vision, only allowing her to see a little bit of what was going on a little less than ten feet away from her. But she could still hear it. The awful gnashing sound that jaw made as it worked itself was even worse when it was tearing into flesh and Bron's pained screams. And the parts of her vision that had been painted red... well, Lyria was pretty sure those weren't caused by hitting her head.

Her vision cleared enough for her to see the wolf's paw swoop down across Bron's neck, silencing his shouts for help. Three jagged lines ran across his throat, skin shredded. Blood spilled everywhere.

Lyria couldn't get up and she was sure that as soon as the wolf was finished with Bron, it would come for her and it would all be over. She closed her eyes; she didn't want to see that awful thing coming for her. She didn't want to know she was going to die the second before she did. She didn't want his glowing yellow eyes to be the last thing she ever saw. So she thought of better things, bringing forth images of Ryanne, Riven, Lecks, Tigris and even Tristan.

But then the most wonderful sound in the world came and Lyria's chest filled with joy. "LYRIA!" Tristan's voice thundered.

"Tristan!" she screamed hysterically back. "Tristan, I'm over here!"

She heard heavy footsteps trampling through the forest close by and relief filled her. The only problem was that her screaming had caught the wolf's attention, and it turned to look at her, glowing eyes ravenous and jaw blood stained as it continued to move mechanically. It slowly stalked towards her. Something flashed against a bit of moonlight and Lyria strained harder, staring at it's neck. It was there that she saw little metal sheets on the tendons keeping the head attached to the body. The Gamemakers had done this - reanimated it.

The thing was about a foot from Lyria now, and she could almost feel rancid air coming off the animal, as if it were tainting the area just by standing there. It made that sinister barking cough again but was cut short as a giant rod flew through the air and embedded itself into the animal's side.

Lyria, slowed down by the blow to the head, took a moment to catch up and by the time she'd realized the animal was down for the count (at least for the moment) Tristan was already at the wolf's side, grabbing his spear/bo staff thing from where it stood at attention, sticking straight up out of the poor creature's flank. Tristan struck the animal again as it made an attempt to get up.

"The neck," Lyria ordered, blinking back a sudden bout of dizziness that had overtaken her senses and brain. "Go-go for the neck."

Tristan glanced back at her for half a second and she got a quick flash of his face. He looked angry and disgusted and worried. He looked like an arch Angel about to put this poor monster out of it's misery. With finality, he brought the staff down over the last couple tendons and pushed it through, completely severing the head this time. My felt bile rise in the back of her throat as the head lolled away from the body.

Tristan straightened and loosened his staff from the ground and turned around to face her. The anger and disgust were gone but worry remained. "Lyria?" he asked carefully.

The small redhead swallowed with difficulty and slowly raised her arms to help herself up. She pushed against the tree she'd come to rest against with one hand and up off the ground with the other. She sagged a little, nearly falling to the ground in the attempt to stand, but managed to right herself. She couldn't help but notice the way that Tristan flinched, ready to grab her and pull her to a standing position if she needed him too. She took one halting step forward, followed by another. A couple more and she was really close to him. But the world was spinning and she just felt like lying down. "Lyria?" Tristan asked again, this time sounding weary.

Lyria flung herself onto the older boy, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Stay with me?"

She felt his arms wrap around her tiny form, one hand stroking her hair comfortingly. "Of course."

Lyria unceremoniously broke into uncontrollable sobs.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry, the gore alert for this one should have been, like, a fifty. I didn't realize just how nasty it was going to get, otherwise I might have tried to tone myself down a bit. I don't think even Suzanne Collins got that down and dirty with it. But oh well.**

**So tell me what you think! Do you like where this story is going? Who do you think is going to win? Who do you want to win? We're getting closer to the end people, though fret not, I still have several chapters to go. Or maybe I don't. It might depend on how many reviews I get.**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
><strong>

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you for your absolutely fabulous reviews. Sorry to say this chapter is a bit slower than the last, but I think you will all enjoy it.**

**This is also the longest story on my account currently, chapter-wise, and second place word count-wise.**

**Thank you to AnneSilverfire and Yo for their wonderful, faithful reviews and to everyone else who has reviewed and kept this story alive with their opinions, ideas and just love for the plot-line. **

Chapter 13: Heart to Heart

_"Doesn't anyone stay dead anymore?"_

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><p>Lyria had managed to fall asleep while she was crying into Tristan's shirt. While standing upright too - the boy was impressed. And of course there was no possible way he could just leave her there. Which left him very few options - either prod her back to consciousness and try to make her walk back or just pick her up (he was already supporting her weight) and carry her.<p>

The second option had a couple downfalls, such as the two coming across the remaining three tributes that haunted the woods and him having to drop her in order to fight them off. But the walking had even more downfalls, one of which would be erasing the temporary peace that had settled over her.

It wasn't a hard decision for Tristan. Still supporting her upper body against him with one arm, he leaned down and hooked the other around her thin legs at the knees and easily scooped her up, adjusting her in his arms until she looked comfortable. Her face had contorted a bit at the sudden jostling but smoothed back out and her head gently rolled until it rested against his bicep. One arm, the one that wasn't pressed against his upper stomach, moved, reaching upward. For a second, he was certain he had woken her up and she was about to demand he let her down. But her expression was placid, even marginally more content than before and her eyes remained closed. Tristan watched her hand with fascination as it suddenly stopped directly over his heart and grabbed a fistful of shirt.

She made a humming noise that sounded close to happy and Tristan couldn't help the smile and the happiness that overtook him. Lyria finally trusted him, even when she was sleeping and couldn't watch him, her subconscious bade her closer.

He began to walk, though not towards their little temporary campsite from before which he now deemed unsafe (and would be willing to bet she would come to a similar conclusion, giving the stance that they had no idea what the rabbit could be up to.) And he didn't dare go back to her campsite, though he desperately wanted to get that blanket for Lyria as temperatures dropped lower and lower all the time. But safety, particularly hers, came first.

A loud canon shot startled him into awareness and his heart jumped into his throat. Shit. Someone just died. Who? He hoped it was Aiden. Lyria gave a sleepy little jolt and her eyes opened which made Tristan don a guilty expression as she looked up at him, her face squinting up at him mildly with a bit of confusion around the edges. She trailed her eyes away from his face and down to where her hand grasped his shirt and was sure, for a second, she was going to release it. But she didn't. She simply looked back up at him with blurry eyes and said, "I think I might have a concussion." Her voice was tired and she looked dizzy. "Don't let me fall asleep for... too long."

Just as she finished this sentence, she began to drift off again, her head falling back towards the crook of his arm, but he shook her ever so slightly, prompting her to stay awake. "How long is too long?" he asked, though he knew the answer. He was just trying to get a cognitive response.

Lyria squinted like the world had become too bright for her eyes, though they were still submerged in night. "Wake me every hour or so."

That was good enough for Tristan and he let her nod off for a little while longer.

After a while, the anthem sounded. Tristan stopped and looked skyward to see who died. The emblem flickered away to Bron's slightly devious smiling face which Tristan was not surprised to see, having been there moments after he died. The next picture was of the guy who'd partnered with Aiden; Marris from 12. In this photo, his long locks had been tied back and he looked more bored than tired. Personally, Tristan thought he was lucky not to die when the alliance was broken between him and Aiden. He wouldn't past it past the little bastard to stab a former partner while his back was turned.

The emblem took over the sky once more. That left four of them - Tristan, Lyria, Aiden and Jansen. The odds were getting better and better all the time. Now he just had to find some way to avoid the other two and let them take each other out or take them both out himself. If he should happen to fall... well that didn't really matter, did it? As long as she was the victor.

He found a good spot - there was a high ridge that curved like a crescent moon that they could put their backs to while they watched out for attacks from the front. Tristan set Lyria down close the ridge and was surprised when he had to pry her fingers from his shirt front. Surprised but also sort of happy. She really, truly trusted him. He managed to free himself from her tiny grasp and set the couple supplies he'd thought to grab on the ground. He sat a couple feet away from her, not wanting to startle her if she woke up before he checked on her.

After a while, he noticed her shivering, even underneath her coat. As if on instinct, he shrugged out of his own and crawled over to her to drape it over her tiny form. She jerked awake as the jacket landed on top of her, head swiveling around widely, though her eyes were still shut. "Wha?" she asked drowsily.

"Shh," he breathed softly. "You were cold. I was giving you my jacket."

Lyria's eyes pried themselves open one at a time, first the right, then the left and glanced down at herself where a large jacket was, in fact, laid over her. She then looked back up at him and he was caught in this gaze. Her eyes were even bluer than normal - if that was at all possible - and half shut with sleep, but she looked at him steadily with _worry._ He couldn't believe it. "What about you?"

"Me?" he asked, scoffing a little at the question. "I'm good. Plenty of meat on my bones." She gave him a skeptical look and he smiled. "Really, Lyria."

Lyria shook her head at him, but gave him a slight smile. "Better watch it Tristan; people might start thinking you're in love with me." She laid back down fully, letting her eyes drift back shut and her breathing even out.

When he thought she was asleep, he allowed himself a sigh. "I think... if we met another time, another way... I could have been."

"Me too," she whispered.

Tristan jerked to look at her and saw that her eyes were open and she was gazing at him, caring and gentle. She was smiling and he couldn't help but smile back. "Go back to sleep, Little Red," he said with a slight chuckle, using Ryanne's favorite moniker for her with care. "I'll watch over you."

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan estimated it to be about an hour later when he prodded her awake, though he wasn't sure. She made an odd humming sound and turned over, obviously having none of that. He sighed a little, though on the inside he thought it was kind of adorable. "Lyria," he called to her, crawling forward to shake her a little more. "Time to wake up."

"I don't wanna," she whined petulantly.

Tristan held in the laugh that threatened to break though, clearing his throat in order to keep it in. Child one second, old woman the next. No wonder she was so confusing. "Well you have'ta." He shook her some more and she flopped around limply. "C'mon, Lyria! Talk to me for a bit and I swear you can go back to sleep and I won't disturb you." He knew how to deal with people with concussions. They were often sleepy and did not like waking up, but you had to make sure that all their cognitive functions were in tact.

Lyria groaned again but flipped over and gave him a look that said she wasn't happy about this but she would play along. "Alright, Tristan, what do you want to talk about?"

Tristan thought about it for a second. He'd expected more of a fight when he tried to wake her. "We can just ask questions back and forth, I guess. I mean, I don't know much about you at all and what you know of me probably came from Ryanne which means the information is not to be trusted." He meant it as a joke but it was a little too painful for that. "So we'll start simple. What's your last name?"

Lyria cocked an eyebrow at him, giving him this look that clearly said she thought he was silly. Tristan was just starting to notice how much of what she thought and felt was interpreted through her facial expressions when she wasn't hiding it. "Lake. Lyria Lucindra Lake. And yours is Tristan Rhys Whitlock."

It was Tristan's turn to cock an eyebrow at the girl, mostly because she was absolutely right. Not like he had expected Ryanne to lie about his name or anything, but the fact that his full name had come up in conversation was a little... well, weird. Had Ryanne offered up the information or had Lyria specifically asked? Either way, she knew it. "Wait, Lake? Like Lyria Lake? As in-"

"The supposed meeting place for war councils during the dark times, indeed," Lyria said with a grin. That bit of information was lost the night her file was destroyed, but Lyria always knew. She was named after the place the Capitol had damned after the dark times - or the revolution, as her father called it. Lyria Lake had been a gorgeous place in the wilds north of all the Districts; a lake with so much of the gemstone Lyria along it's floor, that it literally glowed the same golden red color in the sun. Apparently, it was where chosen leaders from each District chose to meet for planning. "I was named after the very jewel that funded the rebellion and the very place it was planned." She looked toward the sky. "My turn, yes? Hmm... What's your favorite color?"

"Blue-green," he answered, not even realizing he meant the exact same shade as her eyes. "What's your favorite animal?"

Lyria thought about it for a second, sitting up and wrapping his jacket closer around herself. The girl wasn't quite sure what her favorite animal was; she liked all animals, really. But the answer came to her a second later. "I like foxes. They're so cute and sly," she said with a smile. Tristan could definitely see similarities between Lyria and a fox. "What's yours?"

Tristan gave her a little smile. "Before tonight, my favorite animal was a wolf. I'm not so sure they're my favorite anymore..." She began giggling a little and he joined in with a chuckle of his own. "I still like them, though. They're loyal and protective and they'd do anything for their pack."

"Just like you," Lyria said with a little sly grin. "Oh, c'mon, you thought I didn't notice?" she continued when he gave her an odd look. "Ever since the acid rain debacle, you've been right there. Maybe before - I don't know. But you've saved my life more than once now. And I'd be willing to bet if you had found me and Ryanne in distress, you wouldn't have just stood by and watched. You would have jumped in, made it so we were safe, even if it meant you had to die yourself."

Maybe Lyria knew more about him than he thought. Maybe she was onto him now. He shook his head, but said, "Yeah, I guess you're right. I wouldn't have been able to just stand there and watch." He really wanted to get off this topic. "What's your favorite flower?"

Lyria smirked knowingly at him and he couldn't help but roll his eyes at her. "I like lilies."

The two went back and forth like this for a while until Tristan let her fall asleep again and took up watch.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan woke up, alarmed several hours later. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. He looked over to where Lyria had been and bolted upright when he saw she wasn't there. Tristan sucked in a big breath, ready to shout her name, but the tiniest of pressures against his stomach deflated him. He looked down enough to see Lyria's head lying against his leg and the tiny pressure had been her hitting his stomach. "Quit moving," she groaned tiredly. "You're more comfortable when you're asleep."

The boy let out a relieved breath and the panic fizzled out of him. He laid back down, those moments of terror draining him of the ability to sit up. He was vaguely aware of her moving against his leg and the pressure of her head disappeared for a moment as she wriggled around. And then all of a sudden, her head was propped up on his chest. "Don't move anymore. You're a good pillow," she murmured sleepily.

"You scared me," he breathed.

She giggled a little against his chest as the vibrations his voice made reverberated there, making her meek, "Sorry," sound even less convincing than it should have.

"No, you're not," Tristan said with a little chuckled, causing her to giggle again.

There was nothing special emotionally about this moment and there was no sudden epiphany of romantic feelings - it wasn't like that between them. And it never would be because one or both of them would have to die. But it didn't matter. It was a special moment because it was between two people who'd finally gained an understanding of each other.

She adjusted herself so that she was looking up at him with a sly little grin. He cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she was up to. "You're right," she said, trying to sound serious, but the smile broke any sort of effect. "I'm definitely not sorry."

He shook his head but didn't respond this time. He just laid down on the ground, allowing her to use him as a pillow for as long as she so desired. He let his eyes slide shut, knowing by her breathing that she was still awake. She seemed much better - any nasty effects from the concussion gone. However, he still wanted to keep an eye on her progress if he could.

Lyria was in a reflective sort of mood. Her head was propped on his chest, allowing her to hear every thrum of his heart. It was strong and steady and oddly soothing. Lyria didn't even want to think about the day when such a heart would no longer beat. What about her heart? What did it sound like? Was it steady like his? Was it strong? Somehow, Lyria didn't think that her heart was the same. It must be different. Lyria didn't need the same steadiness - she was light on her feet.

A sudden sound tore Lyria from her mood, turning her persona from thoughtful and relaxed to alert and alarmed in a half second. She sat up very suddenly, causing Tristan to jerk up after her. She slapped a hand very firmly onto his mouth before he could say anything. She heard it again.

It was a slight _crack! crack! crack!_ Nearly too quiet to be heard. Too soft and quick for footsteps. Lyria breathed out softly, careful to make no sounds whatsoever, but upon doing so, found that her breath materialized in front of her as a white steam. Her eyes widened and she realized just how low the temperature had dropped. The little crackling sound was the moisture in the ground freezing and cracking.

Lyria looked to Tristan with wide eyes and realized he'd come to a similar conclusion - and they needed to get out.

Tristan jumped up, hoisting Lyria with him easily, as if she weighed nothing, and began pulling her along. Her breath thickened in front of her though Lyria herself felt no chill except for the bite of frost against her uncovered hands and face. Her shoes kept her warm and her pants must have been designed with this very event in mind. But her jacket? She remembered feeling chilly even with it on the night before... and then she remembered that it wasn't just her jacket that she was wearing. Lyria glanced down at herself and saw the over-sized coat hanging down around her, almost to her knees in length. She tried to stop but he just kept pulling her along. "Tristan!" she called, already working the zipper with her free hand.

He turned quickly scanning the area, obviously mistaking her tone for alarm. "What?" he asked as his eyes settled on her - or, more specifically, the hand trying to unzip his jacket. "Hey! Whoa, whoa! Keep that on. You'll freeze to death." His hand closed around her's, stilling it.

Lyria looked up at him with disbelief. "Yeah, and what about you, you idiot?" she demanded.

Tristan's eyebrow twitched, which didn't fail to be a little amusing, despite the circumstances, and he said, "I feel fine. I've got more muscle and meat on my bones than you - my body can sustain itself a bit more."

Lyria was having a hard time believing that for two reasons: One, he'd already shown that he was pretty self-sacrificial so even if he was suffering from frostbite, he probably wouldn't let her give up the jacket. Two, his lips were already starting to turn an ugly grayish blue that Lyria thought looked suspiciously like a sign of hypothermia. She narrowed her eyes at him, but a movement just to the right of his head caught her attention. Her eyes widened. "Uh, Tristan..."

"I'm not joking, Lyria," he said firmly, "you're keeping that jacket on."

"Tristan," she tried again, now feeling a bit panicked as the human sized and shaped thing kept moving towards them, shifty and confident. Her eyes were trained on it which she realized was a him about a half second before she saw the weapon in his hand or the expression on his face. "Tristan!"

She wasn't quick enough - the male tribute threw the knife which embedded itself in Tristan's back before Lyria could do anything to stop it. Tristan's eyes widened in surprise as his face was overtaken with pain. He scrunched his eyes shut, his mouth opening in a silent scream as he released her hands and fell to his knees, grabbing at her pant legs instead. However, rage filled Lyria again, similar to the rage that had overtaken her when Elsie shot Ryanne and she shook him off, stepping away from him and blocking his crouched form with her own body. "You cannot have him!" she snarled dangerously.

Lyria flung her knife at him with killer intent. It was a good throw and went right towards her target - the neck. It would have hit the male tribute's neck too... except for the fact that he freaking _caught it_. Just reached into the air and plucked the knife from empty space as if it held no menace whatsoever; as if she'd tossed a ball to him.

A deadly calm settled through Lyria as the mocking face of a dead man stared at her. "Doesn't anyone stay dead anymore?"

Marris shrugged noncommittally, twirling her knife in his hand with ease. Lyria got the distinct idea he'd been playing opossum in more than one way. He had to have experience in knife fighting to be so sure about his movements with the blade which meant he was probably more than a sleepy oaf. "I could say the same for you, Lyria. Didn't I see you lying dead in the middle of a field?" He was mocking her obviously, which did not bode well for her temperament. "That was a good trick. Hope you don't mind that I stole it and tweaked it just a bit."

Lyria blanked her face out, taking on an aristocratic air of complete uncaring. "Not at all. I see it worked a fair bit better for you, anyhow." She inclined her head slightly in respect. "Can I ask how you managed to trick the Capitol into thinking you were dead as well?"

Marris looked over her, examining her features carefully and just calculating as she herself. Lyria ignored the stab of pain that ran through her as Tristan groaned behind her but was relieved to hear that he was still alive. Marris cracked a smile. "From one tactician to another, why not?" Lyria hid her surprise by letting a little smile show, though it was plastic and stiff. He rolled up his sleeve and Lyria saw that there was a hunk of skin missing from his forearm. "I destroyed the chip that was in my arm that contained my tracker and then faked my death - again, I thank you very much for the idea. The Capitol went along with it, I guess. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because they thought I could kill you easier if you didn't know I was alive."

Lyria had the strange feeling that he was right. On the outside, she gave a fake, strangled laugh that only just drowned out Tristan's next pained moan. "Me? You think they want me dead that badly? You give me too much credit."

He cocked his head to the side, measuring her again. It was odd, being the one under the chilling, piercing gaze that sought secrets. "No, I don't think I do. They want you dead, little one. Make no mistake of it. I don't know why and I personally don't care. Me?" He shrugged again. "I don't really want you dead. I respect your mind and your loyalty. I tried to hold off on killing you, going as far as to hope that it wouldn't be me who would have to end up doing the job." Marris gave a deep, mournful sigh and ran a hand through his unruly curls. "But you know what they say - if you want something done right-"

"Do it yourself."

He gave her a broad, sarcastic grin. "Exactly. So glad you understand."

Lyria returned the grin, filled with sarcasm and venom. "Understanding has always been a strong point of mine." Her veins coursed with the urge to move but something inside her told her to... just... wait... a... moment... longer...

_THERE!_

Lyria dove to the side as he tossed her knife back her viciously, going directly for her head. She hit the icy floor with a small little thunk but was back up on her feet before Marris could register that she'd moved. The knife sailed harmlessly away, arcing over Tristan's still prone form with no incident. Lyria didn't dare dream that he was no longer armed but didn't dare wait for him to prove it so. In a move she wasn't so sure she would live to regret, she lunged at him, knife drawn back to strike.

Lyria had great speed, but sadly, her movements were a bit predictable and elementary and as such, Marris was ready with a blade mere moments before she reached him and deflected her attack easily. Metal clanged against metal. Lyria leaped backwards, her movements fluid and precise.

Marris cocked an eyebrow at her, as if questioning her where that had come from. She merely grinned in response.

Tristan watched from his place on the ground, clutching his wounded shoulder in pain. He'd plucked the knife from where it had lodged itself in the sinews of his flesh. The male tribute was struggling to regain control of his body, which had seemingly shut down. He wasn't dying; the wound was hardly serious. It was the pain from the serrated edge that caused his immobility. Tristan tensed as Marris lunged at Lyria, fearing she wouldn't see it coming or would trip up at the last second and fall onto the length of the blade. But wondrous, fox-like and graceful, she danced back a couple paces and to the right, making her own strike. Tristan watched as a deadly game of cat and mouse unfolded, though it was hard to tell which was the cat and which was the mouse.

With a particularly cunning misstep, in which Lyria feigned left with her footwork but jaunted right, she was able to catch him off-guard enough to nick him on the wrist with her blade. He swung around quickly, but she slid to the side on the iced forest floor, dodging it as if it were child's play.

A new round of clangs broke out into the air as the fight escalated - his moves more hurried, her's more certain. Lyria was highly defensive, Tristan saw, which is to say, rather than worrying about getting a hit on him, she was worried about not getting cut herself. It suited her talents. She was quick, allowing for dodges and a more complex range of movement and she was good at hiding her motives. The stony mask had returned, though some of it's impenetrable glory remained in the depths of her mind. He could see her thinking.

Another hit, this time on Marris' upper arm, had the District 12 boy's composure slipping as he snarled at her and swung out widely at her. Lyria dropped to the ground, a bit different from previous evasive maneuvers, and swiped straight at his ankle.

It was a successful hit; straight to the Achilles tendon. Unfortunately, dropping to the ground had put her in a horrible, vulnerable position.

As he fell, Marris swung down with his knife, releasing it last second. Lyria moved just enough to avoid it hitting her heart as it would have otherwise, but was unable to stop it from spearing her left bicep.

The girl stood quickly, grabbing the hilt of the dagger-like knife and wrenching it from her muscle with a short gasp of pain as it tore on the way out. Pain radiated from the wound as blood began to pour from it. Lyria looked at the knife she'd pulled from her arm, grasped in her hand, as if it were some strange object she'd never seen the likes of before. As if suddenly becoming conscious of what she was holding, she dropped the knife onto the ground, staining it red with the excess blood that smeared from the blade. Her knife, which she'd transferred to her left hand when she'd torn the dagger from her arm, found itself back in her dominant hand as she approached Marris.

The dark, long-haired boy looked up at her with a mix of pain and sarcasm printed on his face. "If I had one, I would certainly take my hat off to you, Lyria. That was a clever move, going for my Achilles. I guess you won this one."

A horrible feeling radiated through Lyria and she was forced to swallow bile. "If it's any consolation, I didn't want to win."

Marris winced a little and Lyria saw the way his entire right side flinched - no doubt wishing to grab the sliced ankle and put pressure on it to take an edge off the pain. It wouldn't work, even if he did, Lyria thought. It was too clean a cut. Nonetheless, the mocking, sarcasm faded from his features. "It isn't. But I thank you for saying it. The only consolation now would be a quick death."

Lyria nodded, swallowing another wave of bile. She aimed the knife for his neck; he lifted his chin so she had a clearer view. She drew her hand back, ready to throw it and hoping it hit mark the first time.

"LYRIA!"

The alarm in Tristan's voice and the ferocity of his shout easily broke through her will and determination as she turned to face her ally. She only got the briefest impression of his face, his mouth moving in a silent warning that never reached her ears. A split-second later, she was being knocked to the ground by a massive force from behind, a wall of heat enveloping the area as the world was encased in a bright light. Spinning around, she was able to see the tail-end of the explosion that had obliterated the place where Marris had lain a moment before. Lyria stared in horror.

A hand on her arm tore her attention away from the fiery mass that she'd only just been saved from. Tristan had managed to crawl over to where she was propped up on her arms and gave her a sympathetic look.

The emotionless guise fell to ruins and she let a look of exhaustion and sadness to break the surface. She maneuvered herself so that she was practically in his lap, curling into him. "I really, really hate this," she said softly as she leaned back into him, fingering the hole that went through both their jackets. His arms closed around her comfortingly.

"I know."

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry that the wait was a little longer than normal! This chapter took a bit longer to write because I had to continually rewrite. Not the fight, which was comparitively easy, but the conversations. It was hard to convey what I wanted to without going overboard or crossing over into creepy territory.**

**But I was rather pleased with the final product and I hope that you are too. What's your favorite part? Whose your favorite character? What has been your favorite line in the entire story? Your favorite scene? Do you want Lyria and Tristan to end up together?**

**Next chapter, we hit the end of our Games but not our story. I'm looking forward to your reactions.**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
><strong>

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I was going to do a gag-ending buuuuuuut... I just didn't have the energy to. I'll probably post one at the end of the story. And be like, "How this should have ended!" Yeah. But since I'm not doing a gag ending this moment, that means you all have a couple chapters left.**

**Alright, I have another response for yo who posed some great questions for me in her review. First, your suggestion for what Tristan should do with his tracker was great, but sadly, I won't get the chance to use it. As for why Marris just didn't stay hidden was because they already knew he wasn't dead - they had no body to pick up. It was just his good luck that they bought it in the first place and made no move to contradict his death, such as making an announcement to inform the other tributes. And Marris knew they knew. Lastly, while Lyria was explaining her name, she revealed everything because she was no longer expecting to live so it hardly mattered. Oh, and trackers were placed in the forearm - she was hit in the bicep. She would have had to reach down pretty far to pluck out her tracker. ;)**

**Great reviews as always. Thanks AnneSilverfire and yo and everyone else who reviewed.**

Chapter 14: Shattering a Fallen Sky

_"I took your life and now you've taken mine. We're even."_

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><p>The blue tint to Tristan's lips had disappeared; the area they were in had heated considerably after the explosion, though whether that was because of the actual explosion or because the Gamemakers had purposely upped the temperature was up for debate. Either way, it hardly mattered. Both of them were wounded, but alive. Lyria had quite a gash in her left bicep and had lost a little mobility due to damage of the muscle but was otherwise unharmed. Tristan was no worse for wear after the pain had subsided.<p>

Lyria had finally managed to persuade Tristan to take his jacket back and was currently hanging onto his sleeve with her left hand. This was because she wasn't looking where she was going but watching their flanks for any attacks so she had to be led. She was sure that the explosion would attract the attention of the remaining two.

This system worked pretty well - Tristan watching the front and she the back. It kept them from being the victims of a surprise attack, at least, and ever since the bomb had dropped - very nearly catching Lyria in it's fiery clutches - she looked to the sky too.

"Hey, Lyria," Tristan said suddenly, startling the girl from her watch to the right. She turned her head back slightly so that she could see a bit of his profile. His mouth was set and he continued to watch the area like a hawk. "Is what you told Caesar during your interview the truth? The entire truth, I mean. You don't know why your parents left you behind?"

Lyria, bewildered as to where this sudden question had come from, frowned and said, "I don't. Why?"

Tristan's frown deepened a little. "I just remembered something," he said, his tone a little grave. In all honesty, Tristan had been thinking about this ever since she revealed her last name to him - Lake. Lake, Lake. He couldn't remember from where, but he knew it. And now, thinking about Lyria's tactics and the way she'd behaved about this entire thing... it was almost as if she were... bred for this. "You said your name was Lake, right? Lyria Lake?" She nodded, wondering how that was relevant, no doubt. "I've heard that name before, as I'm sure you have, even if you don't remember. There were two victors with the surname Lake; brothers, in fact, both from 2." He tilted his head back to see her a bit better. "Lyria, what was your father's name?"

"Liam," she breathed softly. "Liam Lake."

"That was the younger brother," Tristan said, suddenly feeling weird about bringing this up. "Which means that you have an uncle out there somewhere. Any idea who that might be?"

Lyria didn't know what to say to that. Assuming that this estranged uncle was still alive, he'd have to live in the victor's village. But that was hardly even her focus - her father had won the games? How? He was always so confused. He'd been known to talk backwards on occasion and could hardly hold a conversation others. Lyria remembered his most lucid moments fondly - the moments when he would suddenly look up from something he was reading, his eyes clear for once and say, "You know I love you, don't you, baby?" How could someone like that win the Games?

And if she had an Uncle - one older than her father and another victor - then what had happened to him? Was he dead already? Was that why he'd never tried to contact her?

In the Victor's Village, this year, four of the past victors were still in residence. Two of these victors - Riven and another male whose name she could not recall - were under the age of 30, meaning it wasn't even conceivable for them to be the elder brother of her father who would have been 47 this year. That left two other victors. One of them was a woman, though, making it impossible for her to be an Uncle. Which left... "I have a pretty good idea," she admitted, a hollow feeling filling her stomach. Lecks was the only living option and it hurt to think of him as her uncle. If it was him, why did he leave her all alone, to fend for herself? Why didn't he step forward and take care of her?

Tristan was quiet for a minute, taking in the weight of her silence. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad by bringing it up. I just... didn't know if you knew." He sighed. He was sorry for bringing it up. Tristan wanted her to forget all he'd just said and go back to searching the trees for attackers. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about how awkward it was going to be if she suddenly burst into tears again.

Lyria nodded. "It's fine."

That was all that needed to be said. Without any further prodding, Tristan began moving forward and Lyria returned to watching the trees, periodically looking upwards to check for one of the Capitol's aircraft. Lyria wasn't so sure that Marris had been wrong about them being eager enough for her to die that they would let him fake his death. She wasn't sure that the explosion that had been Marris' fiery grave hadn't been meant to take her out as well. It had certainly been close enough and she was lucky to have been knocked back by the impact.

The girl was in the midst of pondering the reasons for her own existence. Odd topic for an 11 year old to be thinking about, yes, but Lyria was obviously no ordinary 11 year old. She'd been selected for an impossibly deadly game, she'd charmed an entire country, she'd killed, she'd stood by and watched others be killed. And she couldn't help but wonder - what was it all for? Why was she here? Who had put her here and for what purpose?

Lyria had no answers and even more questions than she had before this happened. Was Lecks her Uncle? If so, why didn't he take her in when her parents were gone. If he was her father's brother, why hadn't he taken him too? Why hadn't he taken her?

The slight red-head jerked to a stop as Tristan did and nearly felt it in her own muscles as his tensed up. Something within her chest had her move over just a touch so that they were back to back, his form completely shadowing her's from the other side. She'd become so attuned to Tristan, that she could already tell that they weren't alone anymore and whatever stood before him was dangerous. Mutt or human - didn't matter. "Shit," Tristan breathed and Lyria could only hope that whoever or whatever Tristan saw hadn't yet seen her so that she at least had the element of surprise. "Lyria," he whispered, so low, she wasn't sure she'd heard it. But a second later, "Run."

The slender girl didn't move and clasped the edge of the jacket firmly as she set her face in determination. There was no way she was going to let him put her up some place where she wouldn't get hurt. Running would mean leaving him behind. "No," she breathed back.

Lyria wasn't sure how it happened, but all of a sudden, Tristan had spun around, his arms encircling her and jerking her to the side so that they both narrowly missed the spear that had been flung towards them. Looking up briefly, she saw the cold face of a guy who had nothing left to lose - Jansen, the boy from 4 who'd already lost the girl he loved. But before she could make any move - offensive or defensive, Tristan had shoved her away. "RUN!" he roared at her.

Lyria had never heard his voice like that, not even when he was calling her name when she'd disappeared from camp. The surprise at the anger and authority in his voice overrode her common sense and judgement and she obeyed with no further thought.

Her slender legs pounded against the floor, glancing back for only a moment. Tristan had already lunged toward Jansen and they were grappling for the upper hand. Jansen's hand was on Tristan's shoulder, trying to push him off kilter and Tristan's right hand was locked around Jansen's opposite forearm, restricting the movement. It looked like it was going to be a no weapons fight and Tristan had already proved himself capable with hand-to-hand combat.

This being seen, Lyria knew there wasn't anything she could do at this point - not in this battle. Even her knives would be of no use here.

The best she could do was get out of the way so that he didn't have to worry about her, go back to camp and pick up anything that might remain there. If Tristan didn't come back... It was unthinkable.

Lyria continued to run, practically flying through the trees as if they weren't even there. No roots tripped her up and no dead leaves betrayed her position. Her jacket, open now, flapped around her tiny frame, slapping the wind with every mood she made. Her curls trailed behind her like a veil of fire, adorning her sweet face with fierce flames. She could have been an ages old battle maiden, the way she looked as she dashed through the trees, off to save her fellow warrior. Her mouth was set and her gorgeous eyes focused. "You'd better come back," she demanded of the air.

The trees became a constant backdrop to her surroundings, the undergrowth a cushion under her light steps. Lyria could hardly differentiate where she was going from where she'd already been. Light flashed as she dashed across the forest floor, rays peaking through tree tops playfully and briefly illuminating her face and hair before she plunged back into the shadows.

Finally, she was able to see more daylight and the trees were thinning. She picked up speed, ignoring the aching in her calves that was telling her she was overexerting herself. She didn't care. She'd left Tristan on his own so the least she could do was gather some food and drink so that if - no, not if, _when - _he came back, he wouldn't have to go searching for anything. And she would tell him to sleep and make sure to watch over him like he had been for her all this time. And she would give him the blanket and hum to him like her brother used to do for her when she was restless. When Tristan came back - and he _would_, Lyria resolved to herself - they would plan how to take out Aiden and she would find a way to make herself disappear.

But focus on thing at hand. The light at the edge was getting brighter as she approached and she could feel the sigh of relief building in her lungs. She'd feel freer once out in the open and not quite so boxed in. Given the space, she could do anything.

The air grew stale in her lungs as she burst into the clearing and came face to face with the one man she had wanted to stay away from most.

Aiden grinned from about ten feet away, looking incredibly pleased with himself, his eyes colder than ice in a dark gaze that made Lyria's skin crawl. "Well, lookie here. I was thinking you might have actually cemented something with that guy from 7. Figured I was going have to kill him before I could even get a crack at little you. But that survival instinct kicked in, didn't it?" He smirked at her broadly, drawing his sword and flipping it deftly in his hand. "And you left him."

Lyria steeled herself against his words but couldn't help the little pull at her heart that his words caused. She almost wanted to look back to see if Tristan would come charging out of the trees to protect her like he always had before. She almost wanted to run back to him and save him. But before her lay a problem not easily ignored - a young man who wished her blood on his hands.

The red-head slipped into that familiar calm place she'd made for herself over the years, a placid smile slipping over her fair features, her eyes softening to make her look at ease. Slowly, her hand started to shift towards the blades that hung at her waist, trying not to draw his attention to the movement. "Hello, Aiden. Marvelous to see you again. Hope these Games haven't presented too many challenges for you," she said in mock pleasantry. Actually, after she had heard of his venom towards her, she'd sort of hoped he'd get mauled by mutts. Nothing like someone with a personal vendetta to make the Games end even messier than they already were.

Aiden's smile vanished into hard tension, his eyes suddenly burning with intensity. "Oh, they have," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice that Lyria instantly recognized as a thirst for blood - Bron had the same tone the night she'd inadvertently killed him. "You made sure of that."

Lyria understood that he thought she'd ruined any chance he had for winning the Games, but with his weapon in his hand and hers still hanging at her side, he was at a clear advantage - if she moved too quickly, he could end her before her hand even clasped around the hilt. She had to keep him talking. This in mind, she didn't let her expression flinch. Her full pink lips turned into a pout and she cocked her head to the side, red matted locks falling over her shoulder. "What do you mean?" she asked, innocence dripping from every syllable.

"Don't play coy with me!" Aiden spat out angrily. Lyria's hand flexed slightly, sliding across her hip a little closer to the blade. "You're the star of these Games! Don't act like you don't know it. I bet you've gotten enough gifts to make the most spoiled of Capitol children jealous. And what did I get?"

Lyria was shocked by the look on the boy's face. Aiden's expression was twisted, contorted into a mask of hatred so intense, it burned lowly in Lyria's insides as he stared at her like she was a piece of meat. She was taken back to her Reaping, where she'd watched him drag his hysterical younger sister to the square and then watched him climb up onto the stage, looking as if the world had already ended. He'd looked at her so gently then, like she was some precious doll and then like she was an alien when she'd made sure he knew that she was "completely fine with this." She wasn't, but she'd made the entire world believe it. Never had she seen a look of such disgust and rage. And never had she felt so endangered by a look alone.

The red-head involuntarily took a step back. Before she could blink, Aiden lunged forward, going for the chink in her armor at the display of vulnerability. In a flash, Lyria had drawn her blade to deflect.

His sword hit her knife with jarring force, the shock of the two metal's clashing jolting up her arm. Lyria hissed. The fight with Marris hadn't been anything like this. Whenever their blades met, it was her attacking and him deflecting. She didn't have the strength to create a force like that. Whenever Marris had been on the offense, she'd dodged, not daring to try and match him for strength. Aiden held his sword where it was and leaned in. "I got nothing," he spat venomously. "So I'm going to take your life."

Fear beat strong through her veins as she moved swiftly, spinning deftly away from the path his sword was trying to force through her knife. Aiden, quickly realizing what she was trying to do, sliced to the right, narrowly missing her waist.

Lyria jumped back again, swallowing roughly. This feeling wasn't the calm, killer intent that had run through her before, first with Elsie and then with Marris. This was something even more primal and basic. It was fear and struggling for life. It was self-preservation and it was cowardice. It was an absence of hope but a will to try anyway.

At this range, Lyria couldn't throw a knife. If she lost one and couldn't get to the other in time, or, forbid it, lost both, she would be done for. Her only chance was to deflect if she had to, dodge if she could, and hope he wore out before she did.

The 11 year old watched his motions carefully and saw the rolling of his wrist, right before the silver of the sword's edge was arcing towards her again. She danced to the side again, barely missing tip with her soft stomach. Aiden lunged forward, she feigned to left and then back and then forward again, hoping to confuse him. It worked, or, at least, enough so that he missed his mark. The girl struck out with her knife, but he rolled his shoulder back, boxing her between his body and his sword. He jerked forward, slamming his body into hers with enough force to knock her back into the blade. It was only by dumb luck that she fell to the ground, completely missing the weapons edge. Realizing her vulnerable position, she rolled out of the way just as the sword struck where she should have been.

Back on her feet again, Lyria swung wide, going for his neck, but he brought his weapon up in time for a deflect and she was forced to jump back away again. The rush of fear and adrenaline had put her world in a weird mix of fast forward and slow-motion, almost like sped up freeze frames.

Aiden swung low, going for her legs. She jumped over the blade and slashed at his shoulder, narrowly missing. Fast forward - he lunged, trying to pierce her torso and she managed to hit the blade upwards, saving her a hole in the chest. Slow down - he savagely brought the sharp edged weapon over his head, the silver metal glinting devilishly in the sunlight, and brought it back down, aiming to cleave her in half. She side-stepped and spun, narrowly missing it again. Fast forward - while he was recovering, righting himself, she dashed forward, aiming to slash his face, but his hand came out of nowhere and backhanded her, sending her world turning. As such, she only managed to jam the butt of the hilt into his nose before she had to move out of range again.

It was more like a deadly dance than a fight. Lyria's face stung and her vision was still a little fuzzy. Aiden's nose was bleeding but he hadn't even winced. Lyria brought a hand up to clutch her face. Mistake.

Aiden brought the sword upwards, a smooth movement meant to split her entire front up the center. Lyria barely saw it coming and was only able to move out of the path of it enough to avoid being completely gutted by the move. The edge of the sword cut though her shirt and swung upward, winking playfully in the light under a thin layer of liquid crimson.

Lyria looked down. Her shirt was nearly halved, the bottom completely split and beginning to soak up the blood that his blade had drawn.

The young girl looked down in surprise at her pale freckled skin. The cut was shallow but long, stretching from just beneath her belly-button and slightly to the left, up to the bottom of her first rib. The cut was spewing blood slowly but surely, staining her pale freckled stomach a sickly red color.

It was instinctual to move; of no conscious effort, she managed to dodge the next blow, this one aimed at her head. It was an amazing move and Aiden even blinked at her, as if he couldn't believe she was still standing. Anger curled up inside the girl, shadowing the fear thrumming through her veins. The blood on her hands and the stinging in her face brought back something in her that was still willing to take a grab for life.

In a move that seemed much to quick, even for her, the girl struck out, aiming for the thick, meaty part of the thigh. Aiden aimed a kicked which she dodged, as if it were child's play. She missed and managed to dance away quickly, weaving out of range.

Their dance returned - dodging, swinging, striking, deflecting, hissing, knocking, clanging all wove into an intricate, almost intimate, tango.

The two were tiring now. Lyria was slowing, Aiden's blows were less powerful. Still, they were matched, even in their exhaustion. Neither could gain the advantage and both refused to fall under the other's blade. By this point, Aiden was furious and Lyria fought blank-faced, enraging him even more at her lack of fear. It was a battle of will now. Who wanted to live more? Who could make their goals a reality? Who would die right here, right now?

Aiden brought his sword back over his head again. Lyria had managed to get a good swipe at his face earlier, a cut from nose to cheekbone, making him look more sinister. Lyria crossed her knives and captured the edge of the sword between the two smaller blades.

The girl, struggling to keep the sword in place, away from herself, never saw it coming. Aiden struck out with his left hand, clubbing her solidly in the right side of her face. She staggered back in pain and shock, releasing his sword from the captivity her crossed knives had created. Spots danced in front of her vision, drowning out the rest of the world in their multicolored bursts. White hot pain radiated from her face and her hand, still holding one knife, came to clutch the side of her head as agony swam up in her skull and killed all thoughts she'd had.

It was almost bad enough to cover up the sharp pain of his sword sliding into her stomach - almost.

Lyria's entire body seized up in agony as the knowledge that she had just been skewered sunk in. She glanced at Aiden and saw that he looked pretty shocked himself, like he couldn't believe what had just happened. She began to fall backwards, slowly, as if the world had been covered in molasses. Her surroundings blurred and what seemed like hours later, she was laying on her back, looking up at the sky as shock coursed through her, numbing the worst of the pain. The sky was a curious shade of grey. Was that...? Yeah... it was. Snow. Pure, white snow, beginning to fall. Lyria watched it drift downward with fascination. Had snow always been this beautiful? Had cold always been this soothing? She couldn't recall now. It seemed significant, though.

Her eyes flickered a little and she was met with the sight of a giant sword sticking out of her abdomen. Funny, it hadn't looked so big when it was in Aiden's hand. Maybe that was just relativity though. Aiden was big, so they sword looked average. Lyria was small so the sword was huge.

Uncertain clarity had washed all traces of pain or doubt from Lyria's mind. She was going to die now, she was sure. It didn't seem important, though. Other things did. Where was Tristan? Was he safe? Would he come spend her last minutes with her? Or was he already gone? Was Lecks really her Uncle? Where had her family gone that they couldn't take her with them? How was Riven feeling as he watched this scene? Would Ryanne be waiting, wherever she was going? These were what mattered to Lyria most. The actual dying itself was more like a minor detail.

Aiden's face suddenly appeared in her range of vision, though it was different from before. The rage had drained away and he was left pale with his mouth gaping open dumbly, obviously shocked. By what? This had been his aim, hadn't it? "Why are you looking at me like that?"

The District 2 boy swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down but when he moved his lips, no sound came out. He licked his lips, looking rather sickly. Lyria briefly wondered if he had some type of poisoning from the arena. Dysentery would be a slow death, assuming Jansen or Tristan didn't find him first. "I-I," he choked out, sounding as if a fist were constricting around his neck. "I've killed you."

Lyria cocked her head to the side curiously. "Yes, you have."

For some reason, tears seemed a bit silly now. She couldn't bring herself to cry for her own death.

Aiden took a deep breath that sounded labored, as if he'd run a mile without stopping. The snow was starting to stick in his hair. Lyria wondered how she must look. The blood must make the snow very ugly. Suddenly, an animalistic sound tore from Aiden's chest. "You-you took everything from me!" he yelled, grasping the sword and tearing it from her stomach. That hurt a bit, but she couldn't find it in herself to flinch away. She barely felt it when he brought it back down, plunging it into her stomach again. "You took the sympathy, the support, the money! You took my life from me!" He let go of the sword and backed away, horrified, angry and confused. Lyria remembered feeling the same way after Elsie, though she wasn't quite sure what he was horrified at.

"Yes," Lyria answered back sagely, swallowing back the coppery taste of blood that filled her mouth. "I took your life and now you've taken mine. We're even."

Aiden backed even further, nearly disappearing from Lyria's vision completely. To turn her head seemed impossible; her strength was fading. Aiden's hands threaded through his hair, staring at her as if she were something otherworldly, panic etched across his features. "What are you?" he demanded to know. "I've just _killed you_! HOW CAN YOU BE THIS CALM?" His shout echoed.

"I'm just a little girl."

There was a pause, the briefest of moments where Lyria saw the true extent of the madness that had overtaken Aiden. He didn't even think of her as human any more. "You're no little girl. You're a dangerous creature. You deserve-"

You deserve... what? Lyria never found out. Because at that moment, a spear came flying out of the blue and lodged itself in Aiden's neck. The male tribute made a sickly gurgling sound as crimson began to pour from the wound. A background noise that Lyria hadn't even noticed became louder, invading her senses in their entirety. A low bellow so full of anguish and anger, it had to have come from an avenging angel. Lyria watched as Aiden grappled at the spear which Lyria recognized. She remembered talking to Tristan about it and agreeing that it wasn't exactly a spear but not exactly not a spear either. A spear/staff thingy. They'd never bothered to come up with a name for it.

All of a sudden, the avenging angel was there, grabbing the spear from Aiden's neck and tearing it out roughly. More crimson life poured, running down Aiden's shirt which the angel had grabbed to keep the tribute from falling. He struck forward with the staff/spear thingy again, this time going for the chest.

Tristan. He'd come for her.

The male from 7 was overcome with rage. He wanted to see this boy from 2 suffer. What right did he have to rob him of Lyria? To deprive the world of her charm and splendor? He held him up by the collar of his shirt, stabbing into him over and over again. Blood splashed onto him with each new slash and he found himself enjoying the feeling. This realization stunned him and he stopped.

Aiden's entire body dripped blood, his chest nearly unrecognizable. The only way he could still be alive was if he was running on pure adrenaline. But he was still attempting to breathe. And suddenly, maddeningly, a slow smile curled across the murderer's face.

Tristan gave another cry of rage and turned, dragging the almost-corpse behind him as if he weighed nothing. All of a sudden, Tristan jerked the body forward, slamming Aiden's back into the trunk of a tree and with a mighty, final battle cry, he plunged the spear/staff right through the other boy, all the way through, pinning him to the tree. Breathing heavily, he watched the body slump over onto the spear that kept it from sinking to the ground. Tristan didn't know how he managed it but the District 2 male turned his head, locking eyes with Tristan, that stupid grin still on his face. And he rasped, blood spilling from his windpipe, "I got her." And then he was dead.

Tristan's rage quickly drained away, leaving him empty, in agony and desperate. He fell to his knees before the corpse and screamed to the heavens in pain and loss. The sound that tore from his throat was far from human; didn't even seem possible to have come from anything alive.

Tristan wasn't sure how long he screamed. The next thing he was aware of, he was shuddering on all fours, puking up his guts when he heard the sweetest sound to ever grace the earth; "Tristan," Lyria's voice called out weakly. It was a miracle he could hear her at all, but the sound filled him with strength and he scrambled towards her as she called out to him again. "Tristan," she said, her high lilting voice sweeter than ever, "where have you gone?"

Her hand was reaching out for him. He grabbed her tiny hand in both of his and laid a kiss on it as tears began to slip down his face. "I'm here, Lyria. I'm here," he sobbed, shudders wracking his body. He kissed her hand again and pressed it to his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

Lyria was staring past him blindly, eyes unfocused and skyward, but her hand came to life, cupping his cheek gently and her face formed a small smile. Her hand was so cold... "What have you to be sorry for, silly boy?" she asked weakly, her voice coming out with obvious strain. "You did everything possible for me. Even the impossible. It's not your fault." More tears slipped down Tristan's face, running across Lyria's fingertips in a liquid caress. She frowned. "Don't cry."

Tristan wheezed something akin to a laugh. "That's a stupid thing to say," he told her, the grimace on his face feeling as close to a smile as he was ever going to be again. "Of course it's my fault. If I had just gotten here sooner-"

"Not your fault," Lyria snapped, her breath becoming more and more labored. Her hand fell away from his face, blindly reaching for him. He grabbed her hand again, calsping it tightly and interlocking their fingers. Lyria let out a sigh of relief at the feel of his hand. "Stay with me?" she breathed lowly, echoing the very request Ryanne had made of her before she died. Somehow, this was so much worse.

Tristan sucked in a sharp breath. "I wouldn't dream of leaving."

Lyria gave a faint smile and for half a second, he could see the old her. It was horrible to think of her dying but to see her so broken was even worse. If he were being honest, he wished she'd just fallen in combat. He couldn't stand her being here, only half herself. Lyria's unseeing eyes drifted shut. "I'm glad it's you," she said softly.

Tristan wished he could say the same.

Something seized the boy and he gingerly let go of her hand and lifted her off the ground so she was lying across his lap. Her smile widened every so slightly just before a pained wince tore the joy away from her petite features. The shock had worn off and now the pain was sinking in. She was dying and she was in pain and Tristan still didn't want to let her go, even if it meant this would finally be over. She snuggled into his chest. "You're warm," she muttered contentedly. Her eyes opened back up, the blue focusing on him, if only for a second, the smile slipping for only a second. "I think I lied to you."

Tristan didn't care. She could lie to him for the rest of eternity if it meant she would stay here with him. But for the sake of his curiosity, he brought her closer and whispered, "What about?"

"I think I love you already. Or, was starting to..." She coughed, sending blood everywhere. "Doesn't matter now," she wheezed.

Tristan was honestly too shocked to do anything else but hold her closer. Her free hand, the one that wasn't interlaced with his, touched his stomach, tracing upwards until it found a place just over his heart. "I like this heart. Don't let it stop beating for a long time." Her speech was starting to get softer and softer, the words nearly too breathy to depict. "Promise me?"

He took in a big breath, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. "I promise."

The smile on her face as her eyes drifted shut for the final time was breathtaking. "Thank... you... Tristan." She gave a couple more unsteady gasps, the blood in her mouth staining her lips rose red. And then her breath evened out and slowed to a stop. Shakily, Tristan brought his hand to the point on her neck where a little, fluttery heartbeat should have hammered strong. The hand on his shirt had gone slack, as had the one in his own, and the fluttery little heartbeat that had been Lyria's was nowhere to be found.

Lyria was gone.

Tristan's hand dropped away from her neck, unsure of himself for a moment. He gathered her body in his arms and buried his face into her blood stained neck. "Don't thank me," he pleaded with the little corpse of the doll girl, sobs beginning to overtake him again. "Not for this. Never for this." His hand threaded into the back of her tangled red locks, holding her head in place. "I love you. Please don't go."

The cannon fired twice, loudly. Claudius Templesmith's voice rang out around the arena. "The winner is District 7 male tribute, Tristan Whitlock!" The sound of a hovercraft filled the air as it came for him and for her.

Dammit, they couldn't have her!

They drew him up into the ship, still clutching Lyria's body. Her head lolled back as he grabbed onto her tight. Everything was confused. He could hear voices and see faces, but the two seemed disconnected and unreal. The only thing that was real was Lyria. Someone was saying his name in a soothing tone - he thought it sounded like a woman - and another voice was muttering something about him being a difficulty. It was all still so surreal though. That was, until, something pulled at the girl in his arms, trying to get him to release her. "_NO_!" Tristan roared, snatching her back and elbowing the person behind him. He cradled her like a precious baby and snarled dangerously at the ambiguous faces. "YOU _CANNOT_ HAVE _HER_!"

Distantly, a voice mentioned sedation. Tristan made another feral sound, snatching her out of reach again and fleeing backwards. But always, he was gentle with her, careful to keep her safe and sound. "She wouldn't want you to have her," he growled, baring his teeth as someone surged to close.

All of a sudden, there was a sharp pain in his arm. A quick glance revealed a Capitol woman and a needle. He savagely brushed her away from him and she gave a scream as she hit the floor. What right did she have to scream? What pain had she endured? None. The only one who had the right to scream couldn't even fill her lungs with air anymore. "He's not cooperating," another voice chimed in lowly as another ambiguous form helped the woman up from the ground. "We may have to put him out with force."

The already distorted world went fuzzy and the last thing he was aware of was bulky arms restraining him from behind, whatever that woman had injected him with draining his strength down to nothing, and Lyria being taken away from him. He weakly struggled against his captor. "Lyria! _LYRIA_!"

Suddenly, there was a harsh _crack!_ as something hard collided with Tristan's temple. The boy slumped over in the arms of his captor, the pain that permeated his skull of an incredible intensity. He lifted his head just a little and found the lights now blinded him. The boy barely managed to whisper her name one last time.

And then, Tristan's world went black.

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><p><strong>AN: CRY ALL THE TEARS!**

**Alright, so this chapter made me cry multiple times and was very emotionally taxing. But hopefully, you all enjoy it... or, at least, you know, don't hate it.**

**This is not the end, wonder of wonders. But, if you want a realistic ending, you might want to stop here. Just saying. If you want Jassy's signature happy-ever-after, you can continue onto the next chapter.**

**Let me know what you thought! Was it good? Was it bad? Were you expecting this? Were there any criticisms that you guys would like to give me? What has been your favorite scene so far? Any Tryria fans out there disappointed by this? Wondering how I can possibly continue from here? Well, you'll just have to stick around and find out.**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Lovely, lovely reviewers! I present to you, Chapter 15! I believe I have 3 chapter left after this, though I'm not 100% positive about that. Could be more, could be less. I basically write whatever feels right at the time with loose guidelines to keep me on track, but whatever!**

**As always, a big thank you to my perpetual reviewers, AnneSilverfire_,_ yo, Sarah303 and M. It means a lot that you all have stuck with this story for so long and have taken the time out to tell me your thoughts on this story. I can't believe I've been so lucky to be blessed with great fans like you. I hope you stick with me through the final chapters and continue to love this story up until the last word.**

**Now on with the angst!**

Chapter 15: Break Even

_"I don't feel like I won. I feel like I've lost it all. Lyria's the one who really won it all, but for her, I'll act like a victor."_

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><p>The first painful thought that ran through Tristan's head when he woke was, <em>She's not here anymore.<em>

He wasn't quite sure if this thought was referring to Ryanne or Briza or Lyria. Lyria seemed most likely, seeing as her death was the freshest, but it applied to all. He couldn't move - couldn't even open his eyes. Will to do so was sapped by the mere energy it took to be in the vague consciousness that he was just barely maintaining as it was.

A voice permeated his thoughts, erasing his own inner voice into nothing and taking over every crevice of his mind. He was too weak to fight it. "What are you going to do with him, Mr. President?" the strong, thickly affected accent asked.

A lone thought of his own fluttered through Tristan's mind; _Mr. President? Snow's here. But why? Hasn't he taken enough from me?_

It was a selfish thought, but Tristan felt no guilt for it. He felt incapable or any and all emotion. Pain was prevalent, but that was no emotion. He felt robotic. If anything was keeping him alive, it wasn't him. A Capitol machine or perhaps. Or maybe...

_"I like this heart. Don't let it stop beating for a long time... Promise me?"_

_"I promise."_

Maybe it was her. His promise to her that kept his heart beating and his mind from just succumbing to the welcoming blackness. She would be there waiting for him after all, so even death might be preferable to this hellhole of a life. But he had made a promise to Lyria, and for some reason, he couldn't break it. Not even if it meant he would be miserable for as long as he kept it, knowing that because his heart beat, her's and Ryanne's and all those other people's didn't. Her death had sealed the deal though; he would continue to breathe and live because she asked it of him.

President Snow looked at the boy on the bed, completely unaware of his thoughts or the fact that he was awake at all. Cool eyes scanned over the prone form of a strong tribute. He was breathing harshly and sweating, but alive. The people would have their victor after all. "Nothing," Snow answered brusquely, turning to leave.

Henley balked, staring after his President with disbelief. "But sir!" he started in protest, "He-"

"He's no longer a threat to the establishment," Snow answered, brushing off Henley's concern as if it were a ridiculous notion. "By falling in love with that... pest of a girl, he took care of the work for me. His spirit's been crushed. There's hardly anything left for him to fight for." Snow stuck his hands in the pocket of his long, stylish coat and turned to Henley with a twist to his normal scowl that looked almost like a fragment of a smile. The rose in his pocket glared white against the black of his clothes, making the grey of his hair seem like ash in comparison of it's ivory splendor. The sweet scent of toxic flowers filled the room. "To do anything else to him now would be superfluous and I highly doubt that any Capitol woman would want to take him to her bed. No, I believe we should leave him to squander in grief in 7. It will be enough to contain him, I think." He gave a slight chuckle, a very different sound, coming from the older man. "The true problem has been dealt with. The people will fall at my feet to keep their young children safe. The girl's death has had the exact effect I was hoping for. He is insignificant."

Henley's jaw snapped shut and he nodded at his President, mouth set in a thin line. "Yes sir." With no further words, Snow left the room, the sickly scent of roses fleeing just after him. Henley stayed behind, watching the back of the President of Panem until he'd rounded the corner and disappeared from sight before daring to look at the winning tribute of the 51st Hunger Games. "I don't think you realize what luck you have. He massacred all the last winner's loved ones."

Burkett, without so much as another thought to Tristan, fled the room, clutching his clipboard as if it were his life line.

Tristan lay in the bed as more and more pain flooded his head and he grew more groggy. As much as Lyria and Ryanne's deaths had devastated him, he knew it was a far better, for the sake of his own mother, father and aunt and uncle. Without even knowing it, the two of them had saved his family.

Another burst of pain surged through his temple, like white hot fire, making even thinking unbearable and staying away from the black abyss nearly impossible. The boy moaned horribly wincing against it, but he succumbed to the waiting darkness, thankful for the relief it offered. The last thought he had was, _Thank you, Lyria._

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan drifted in and out of consciousness for days. He was resistant to being roused and when they managed to wake him, he could only stay lucid for a couple minutes at a time. Any healer who saw him, and there were many - Snow wanted him out of the Capitol as fast as possible - had a different opinion. Those who were of more compassion thought that he might be staying under self-sedation in order to keep from thinking about what he'd lost in those days spent in the arena. Those of less caring were sure that the crack on the skull he'd received had a more serious effect than they thought.

But then one day, he woke up.

At first, he didn't know where he was or what had happened. Why was he in this strange room? What were these wires and machines that stuck to his body and went into his skin? He pulled them out, yanking them from where ever they were attached with unfeeling motions. The monitors began wailing, sounds horrible enough to be dying screams. Dying screams.

With a stab of pain, everything - _everything_ - came flooding back. His eyes widened, he bent over and dry heaved a couple of times, hands moving to clutch his head, willing the memories to receded. He didn't want to remember. Not those final moments in the arena with her thanking him as she slowly died in his arms.

Rage filled him and he slammed a fist in the monitor that was shrieking the loudest. The screen smashed into pieces and the machine began to pop and fizzle, sparks flying. Tristan pulled his hand out of the decimated machine and flexed it, watching as his blood coated his hands and began running down his arms and dripping onto the white sheets. The damn thing had stopped making the noise, though, and at that moment, that was one of Tristan's greatest desires. The other was to see a mass of coppery red curls and a smiling set of sea-jewel eyes staring at him. Or a disapproving freckled face, looking at him, her expression screaming what a fool he was without her having to say anything at all.

Because she wouldn't approve of this and he knew that. Self-destructive behavior and the weakness of letting them see just how much agony he was in. She never let them see anything that could undermine her presence or show them just how happy she wasn't.

It didn't matter, though, what she did. She wasn't here.

Tristan tore himself from the bed, ignoring the other monitors and his bleeding hand and the fact that his world spun around dangerously as he made it to his feet. The young man ran through his door, still partially open from the last healer's visit and veered right, not even caring if he was going the wrong way. He just had to do _something_.

He sprinted down the metallic halls, quick as a fox. His bare feet hit the floor in a desperately quick rhythm, and the pants the hospital issued made a papery rustling sound with each stride as his legs brushed up against one another. The whole area smelled artificial and fake and sickly. It was nauseating but spurred him on further. All the more reason to get away from this place. He passed other rooms, full of sickbeds and Capitol people who watched their televisions mindlessly. Tristan hadn't even had a television in his room.

A sound - a very familiar voice - caught Tristan's attention and he ground to a halt outside one of the rooms. The door was open just a crack and he peered in with one eye. The woman who was in the bed seemed to have an enormously swollen pregnant belly and her purple hair was tied back simply as opposed to the normal elaborate styles of the Capitol. She was nursing some sort of drink and looked content enough for the moment, not even watching the television as it played. Tristan turned his attention away from the woman and to the screen over in the corner. It was Snow who took up the entire screen, his graying hair paler than it had been before the Games, Tristan was sure. He looked solemn. "... And today, we mourn the loss of one of our previous victors, Lecks Lake. Mr. Lake was the winner of the 13th Hunger Games, 38 years prior. His brother, Liam, incidentally the father of the tribute, Lyria Lake, also won the Hunger Games, thanks to his elder brother's coaching. Last night, at the age of 56, Lecks Lake was found in his room, apparently having suffered a heart attack. We believe..."

Tristan drowned the rest of whatever he was saying out. Lecks was Lyria's uncle and he was dead? A heart attack? That man had been in perfect health in the beginning of the Games. Unless Lyria's death had put him into cardiac arrest, there was no way. And Tristan wouldn't have believed it, even if the former victor had been fraying at the seams. Lyria was dead but that wasn't enough. They had to take down the one that made the Capitol look foolish.

"Hey!" a voice called, breaking Tristan from his line of thought. A green haired man was running towards him, looking angry. He was angry? Oh, please. Tristan let out a feral noise and swiped the guy away easily before sprinting down the hallway again.

Something caught his attention, coming out of one of those rooms. Brightly colored garbs. Familiar brightly colored garbs. Another snarl of anger and Tristan had the man by the collar of his robes and was slamming against the cold, metallic walls. The man's red eyes went wide in fear, his peach skin tone fading to a dusty white. Tristan's eyes flashed, secretly pleased about being in control of a Gamemaker's life, if even just for a moment. The victor of 7 leaned in and breathed dangerously. "Where is she?"

The Gamemaker gave a frightened squeak, but made no other reply. Tristan, already growing impatient, slamming him back up against the wall and reiterating his earlier question; "WHERE IS SHE?" he shouted right in the man's face.

"I'll show you, I'll show you!" the Gamemaker yelped. Tristan stopped mid-motion, releasing the man, though it was obvious he wasn't pleased. The man rubbed at his neck where the Gamemaker robes had choked him. He looked really close to crying. Was this really a Gamemaker? Someone who delighted in the death of children and brought it about once yearly? The man turned and squeaked out, "Follow me."

Tristan did, if only because he didn't have the patience to try and find her bo- her on his own.

The smaller man led Tristan through the hospital, driven by fear of the newest victor. It was if Tristan's mere presence was equivalent to someone holding a gun to the temple of your head. He couldn't say the idea displeased him. They deserved to be the one's cowering in fear for once.

It seemed to take hours, though in reality, couldn't have taken more than twenty minutes. Everything looked the same and Tristan was starting to suspect the man was leading him around in circles, waiting for an orderly or healer walking about to spot them and capture him. But it didn't happen and finally, the man came to a stop just outside one of the fancy Capitol sliding doors. With shaky hands, the tiny Gamemaker entered a code on the pad that would make the doors open. He was sweating a little, now flushed instead of pale. "This never happens, you know," the Gamemaker said nervously, stumbling over his words. He turned to Tristan with desperation apparent in his eyes. "Please don't tell anyone this happened. I didn't have to lead you here, you know? But... just... please."

Tristan looked down at the man for a moment and realized that he was right. He hadn't seen it before, but the man had some sort of communication device in his ear. If he'd wanted to, the second Tristan had released him, he could have called in backup and had Tristan hauled off. But he hadn't. He'd led him here anyhow and was going to open the door for him besides. Tristan gave one, silent nod and the man breathed a sigh of relief and pressed a button.

The little keypad chirped happily and the door hissed as it slid open. Tristan stepped through and was assaulted with pure white.

The entire room was tiled white, as were the sheets on the beds. The only dappling of color came from the faces of the other tributes which were left to the open air by the sheets that covered everything else. All skin tones - fair, medium, dark and even the queer pinkish of the boy from 6 - had faded into a dusty pallor. Some lips were blue, some a bloodless white. A couple faces had obviously been damaged during the Games and reconstructed after death; it was a slight plastic look to their skin that he recognized from a couple of the escorts. The scratch Lyria had inflicted on Aiden's face had been stitched but otherwise remained untouched and you could see a bit of the large hole Tristan's spear had put through his throat, but that aside, all faces looked peaceful, as if they were asleep.

But one bed was empty, the sheets turned down and mussed as if a child had just jumped from them. 22 beds were filled but not one of them held the corpse of a tiny, freckled redhead. Ryanne was there, though. She even had a slight smile etched onto her face as her eternal sleep stretched on.

Tristan approached the body of his cousin slowly, as if expecting her to jump up any moment and yell, "Gotcha!" But she stayed down and he got the distinct feeling that if he asked the seemingly dead girl what she was doing, this time a reply would never come. At the thought, though, he smiled a little bit in spite of himself. "You would have liked to see that one, eh, Ry?" he whispered softly.

Ryanne didn't respond.

He sighed and leaned down, kissing her forehead for what would be the last time, trying to ignore how icy and wrong her skin felt against his lips. Then he straightened turned to the mousy Gamemaker, asking, "Where's Lyria?"

The poor guy looked ready to go into cardiac arrest himself. His skin still held that odd flush. "I-I dunno," he stuttered out, very obviously made nervous by her absence. Perhaps he feared her jumping out at him? It would be a sight to see. His red eyes darted around the room anxiously, looking for someone who wasn't there before looking at Tristan with the eyes of a whipped puppy. "Perhaps, since she has no family, they cremated her body."

Tristan... hadn't considered that. What was obvious to him was that she wasn't here and that was through no fault of this Gamemaker. The young man nodded and forced a smile onto his face, nearly as plastic as the skin grafts on the other tributes. "Alright. I, er, see. I will be going now. And - eh, this never happened."

Tristan swept past the man, not missing the relieved smile that swept across his face or the slight burst of warmth it brought to him.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan didn't remember ever feeling so rested. Had there ever been a point in time where he'd had more sleep? He couldn't recall. He felt healthy and he'd bulked back up due to Capitol feeding. He looked like he had before this entire bloodbath had begun. Maybe even better. But on the inside, he was a torn down man with a stack of deaths on his shoulders a mile high, weighing down on him like the world on Atlas. His stylist, Demeter, had pulled off an amazing feat outwardly but nothing could fix him on the inside.

That's how he feels until someone else shows up - someone who's definitely not supposed to be there. A woman that he recognizes, despite how odd she looks. Her skin is striped and her smile is catlike in more ways than one. Whiskers jut from either side of her nose and she slinks when she walks.

Lyria's stylist, Tigris.

The woman looks an odd mix between angry and pleased, the smile more predatory than friendly and her presence is unsettling in itself. How'd she manage to get back here in the first place? It doesn't matter. The absolute deliberate wind she puts in her shoulders and hips as she moves towards him makes his hair stand up on the back of his neck. He'd never liked cats and her look was menacing enough to make him feel like he was trapped in the Games again.

Suddenly, she stopped, taking on that same odd stillness that cat's can. After a moment of staring him down, her smile widens ever so much more and she makes a low purring sound that could be mistaken for a threat. "Congratulations on the win," she says carelessly, as if the whole thing doesn't matter to her. She swishes her hand to the side, as if waving the entire situation off. "You deserve it." If he's not mistaken, there's poison lacing her voice but watching her, one would think she was just some silly Capitol person who'd crept backstage to meet the victor personally. Suddenly, she reached down to her side and pulls something from a pocket in her skin-tight black dress. Funny, he'd pictured her wearing animal print everywhere. "She would have wanted you to have this," she said, tossing the silver glinting thing to him. He caught it, but didn't dare take his eye from her. Tigris scoffed. "They returned it to me. As if I would have any use for the silly thing. Ah, well. See you later, boy." She waved at him mockingly and then slunk away, disappearing into the shadows as if her entire body was made from the same inky black.

Tristan suddenly heard a whirring sound and knew he only had a moment before he'd be lifted onto the stage, live in front of the entire Capitol. He took a quick glance down to the small silver thing resting in his palm and was both surprised and confused to see a pocket watch.

He blinks at it, befuddled, but he's forced to shove it into his suit pocket as he's being lifted upwards, towards the waiting crowds.

Tristan doesn't know what he was expecting when he was presented to the Capitol for the first time since the end of the Games, nearly two weeks prior now, but the absurd uproar at the sight of him is _not_ it. He was expecting venom from the Capitol people, though he wasn't sure why. Weren't these the people who'd been so enamored with Lyria mere days before the Games? How could they change loyalties so quickly?

And then he remembers who these people are and the kick they get out of watching 23 children massacre each other every year and one come out victorious, rewarded for having been the cause of each of their death's - at least, that's the way Tristan felt about the whole ordeal. He felt as if he'd personally taken a blade to each and everyone of their throats and used them as human shields against the Capitol until he was all that remained. And they'd enjoyed watching him do it.

Tristan plastered a smile onto his face and waved, driving the crowds absolutely nuts. They may have lost their fascination for Lyria herself, but apparently, one of her favorite acts still rings true with them. Tristan finds that morbidly interesting.

Caesar greets Tristan congenially, playing the part of the host perfectly as he welcomes him back. Tristan, all the while, is thinking about how good his restraint has been. He hasn't hit one of the Capitol people yet and though the night is young, Caesar is actually curing his mood a little as he actually tries to make Tristan at home in front of the entire world. It's no success, but Tristan respects the effort anyhow.

Soon, though, they start the playback of the entire Games.

They start with the Reapings, of course, and Tristan is surprised to see that the girl who steps onto the stage from 2 is not at all like Lyria - not truly. His Lyria had been much wiser and not quite so childish. Her hair had been longer, her eyes prettier. Who was this wisp of a child trying to imitate her? She'd been a fierce warrior and a fantastic mind. This child was nothing compared to her, and yet, as she stared into the cameras, he could see a flicker of the girl he remembered in her. Some part of him knew that his reaction was being taped, but he didn't care; he couldn't help the pained smile that slipped through.

It played through the rest of the Reapings, lingering on his own for obvious reasons, but pushed on fairly quickly after that, going to the next televised event - the opening ceremony. Again, the replay lingered on Lyria, looking much more herself this time as she waved at the crowds from her perch in the chariot, looking like a young stone goddess. Others earned a spotlight in this - he and Ryanne, the two from 12 and some others.

Some clips were showed from training, though not many. Ryanne's little stunt with the knife made the cut, though, and the entire Capitol fell to laughter as Jewel fell into the weapons stand. Scores were flashed across the screen, lingering on the highest and then it was time for the interviews.

_Jewel must be turning over in her gurney,_ Tristan thought as her interview's most unflattering points were emphasized, including the part where she pretty much lied through her teeth to deny her hatred for Lyria. Bron's interview received some positive feedback but Lyria's was the one that had the crowd shushed and awed as they listened to her story for what was probably the billionth time. Capitol people never did tire of a good story, though, did they? Another reason the Games were such an essential part of their petty lives.

Aiden's interview was all but skipped over, only lingering on him enough to hear his greeting before it was flashing off to the people of District 3. The two from District 4 - Jansen, who he'd fought to the death in the arena, and Cale, who he and Lyria had both witnessed the death of - were given fair emphasis, as well, a large portion of both their interviews being played before it moved on through the rest of them. He noticed that Ryanne's entire interview was included, from start to finish. He noticed that she'd hinted to an alliance with Lyria more than a couple times throughout, though never outright said so and that she skillfully dodged Caesar's personal questions, turning compliments on him every time he tried to back her into a personal, sharing corner. And she'd managed to come out likable, despite all the dodging.

His own interview and the rest were skimmed and then it was time for the real thing - the Games.

It was hard not to watch Lyria, especially with how much the camera focused on her. It made sense - everyone was so interested in her in particular - but he still wished they would back off so he could stop thinking about her for five minutes. And so he wouldn't feel the need to knock her teeth out after watching her going for that sack at the Cornucopia again. But watching himself quelled that anger as he dove in and crushed that guy's face to a pulp.

And then the pocket watch popped up and the very same silver object practically throbbed in his pocket. It had been their's and now, because they weren't here anymore, it was his.

The cameras finally directed themselves elsewhere and he got to see the awesome fatalities of the two from District 10 and the girl from 3. Torn to bits by mutts; a brutal way to go. And so shortly followed by that girl from 9.

And then his murderous feelings towards Lyria returned as he watched her take down three mutts by herself. What on Earth had she been thinking? What the hell had Ryanne been thinking, not helping her out? But she won. He wasn't sure how, but her tiny form stood strong on the screen, covered in blood that wasn't her own. They flickered away and the Games continued.

Tristan had been present for or filled in on most of the rest of the Games from Lyria's point of view so the shock value there had worn off, though he could have lived a long, happy productive life without watching her skin melt off under the pelt of the acid rain - so much more gruesome than Ryanne described.

The cameras began flickering towards Aiden a lot about midway through and Tristan got to see first hand just how crazy he was becoming. He also saw how cautious Marris was around him. Marris slept with a knife concealed at his side, leaving Aiden completely unaware of the danger sleeping about ten feet away. Had Marris developed the fancy to, he could have easily slit Aiden's throat and been done with it. Tristan wished he had. If he'd just gotten rid of Aiden when he saw that he was becoming unstable, Lyria might be sitting here instead...

Watching Ryanne's death brought real tears forth and he heard other members of the Capitol crying with him, but watching Lyria set up her little death scene proved to be entertaining enough.

Too soon, though, he was watching the end battle between Aiden and Lyria that flickered to scenes from his and Jansen's own hand to hand. After tripping Jansen up and smashing his head into a tree, Tristan had ended it quickly and cleanly, grabbing his head and twisting it around roughly, regretting that snap of bone with every fiber of his being.

Watching himself kill Aiden was like an out of body experience. He couldn't believe that wild thing on the screen was him.

The man that held Lyria as she died though - that was him. And the promise he made to her was echoed by the heartbeat that still sounded in his chest, giving definitive thumps, as if to prove he hadn't broken his word to her.

It ended with her death and Tristan wasn't sorry to see that it was over. Caesar stood and shook his hand, clasping it between the two in a heartfelt gesture. "Tristan, I think I speak for all of Panem when I say that you have suffered for this win and lost much. But I hope when you return home, you can find some semblance of happiness. See you at the interview tomorrow."

Tristan was crowned and the crowd roared again, but it seemed empty to Tristan and without meaning.

~Sacrificed With Love~

Honestly, Tristan could hardly remember the interview, reviewing the day in his mind. It'd all been one big blur. What was crystal clear was waking up on the seventh floor of the training center and getting ready for the day. Especially clear was the fact that one of the members of his prep team, Endora, had dyed her hair and tattooed freckles onto her skin and now looked suspiciously similar to Lyria. He couldn't even bring himself to try and dissuade he.

The interview itself was just so tedious - it seemed like every question was related to Lyria or Ryanne or Aiden somehow. What about those other kids who had died? What about the ones he, himself, had killed? Did they not matter, just because their stories in the games were a little less interesting to the Capitol. More than once, he tried to steer it towards the two from 4 or 1 or even the girl from 12 who'd fainted on the platform and been blown to bits for it. But no - they only wanted to talk about the painful things. The moments where he went wild, killing Aiden in a fit of rage, were asked about quite a bit and they showed a clip of Ryanne's last conversation with Lyria and asked him about how he felt about the two of their deaths. He honestly couldn't remember what he'd said because he couldn't even begin to describe the hole left in his life.

Lyria's watch rested in his pocket still and he touched it gently. It was all he had left of her now.

The train ride home was more relaxing than he thought possible. The Avox's steered clear of him. His annoying escort, a woman by the name of Diana, was so busy running about yelling at the staff that she could care less about Tristan, though she pinched his cheeks every time she passed in a whirling tornado of orange. Ryanne's mentor was aboard the train but had barred herself in her room - Syvier was taking it a little hard.

His own mentor, Caspar, sat about ten feet away from him, munching on fruit. The two of them were dressed in nice suits and looked like they could be siblings (or, if Caspar was a bit older, father and son.) Caspar's long legs were propped up on an elegant table and it was obvious he didn't have a single care in the world right now. Caspar had won the 42nd Hunger Games and Syvier had won the 44th - in between them had been a Career by the name of Brutus who had wiped out 7 first thing that year. Aside from his own father and now himself, they were the only two victors left from 7. His father hadn't mentored once since Syvier had won - he'd handed the mantle over to Syvier and been done with it. But he'd done well; he'd mentored both Caspar and Syvier.

Caspar gave a belch befitting a bar bum and stood up suddenly. "Hey, Tristie, why the long face? You've won, haven't you? You're alive and now you get to live in tortuous guilt and real nightmares every day for the rest of your life, but hey, make the best of it." He thrust his cup out at him, as if to say cheers, before knocking it back quickly in a couple swallows.

If there was one person here who could make this day easier, it would be Caspar. Caspar's entire method of coping after the Games had to do with morbid, sarcastic, mocking jabs. From the moment Tristan had been allowed to see him, there'd been very little rest as to how stupid he'd been out there - especially with not telling him that he'd formed an alliance with Lyria (even though, at the time, he technically hadn't. He was just kind of helping from the shadows.) He'd also been called a pedophile and stalker more times than he could count, but underneath that, there was real sympathy and real understanding for what had happened to him. Caspar, unlike everyone else, however, felt no inclination to ask how he was feeling or if he needed to talk. He didn't ask him if he was fine; he _told him_ he was fine and then made all sorts of points to prove it. "You're not stark raving mad, are you?" was one of his favorites. Another was, "Well, until you're fixing to hang yourself or jump off a building, I'd say you're doing well."

Being around him the last couple days had helped a lot, especially seeing how he was with Syvier. Syvier had a bit of a hard time after her Games, having killed eight tributes personally when she rigged a bomb and another two when she chopped a tree down on their campsite. It had unhinged her a little emotionally and she was prone to breakdowns, getting a little worse each year that she lost another tribute. Tristan had already decided he would be taking her place next year even though Caspar had been at it longer. But Caspar, who mocked absolutely everyone else for their weaknesses, sat with her and let him cry on his lap and soothed her.

That was something Tristan could feel good about. He'd brought the two of them together in a way. When he'd admitted he could have loved Lyria in front of Panem, Caspar had felt like a coward and had told Syvier how he felt (and had felt for four years.) Tristan couldn't wait for their wedding - it was a bright spot in a lot of darkness.

Tristan sighed, standing up from where he'd been leaning against the wall and grabbing the watch. It winked at him playfully in the light, very much like it's previous owner. "I don't feel like I won. I feel like I've lost it all. Lyria's the one who really won it all, but for her, I'll act like a victor."

Caspar's eyes held a hollow sorrow but he gave Tristan a dopey smile. "There's a good lad!"

It felt like no time at all had passed when the train ground to a halt. Syvier had magically appeared, pale faced and somber, but not sobbing hysterically, so it was an improvement and Diana was fussing over Caspar who'd refused to put on a tie. His shaggy but kept hair was also a source of constant nagging from her - and apparently had been since his own Games - and he was batting her away, yelling something akin to, "Gerroff me, you batty old pumpkin!" and other insulting phrases that Diana didn't seem to find even mildly noteworthy.

Tristan stood in front of the door, waiting for it to hiss open. Lyria's watch ticked comfortingly in his pocket, almost like she was standing right beside him. It made it easier, really. He could imagine her standing next to him, grinning from ear to ear and could swear he heard her voice saying, "Smile, you idiot!"

Tristan chuckled a little just as the doors slid open and he was assaulted with cameras and smiled at the crowd. Because that's what Lyria always did, even when the world was falling down around her. Pictures were snapped, cameras reeled, following his every move as he left the train. He even waved a little and crowd went nuts. He felt the others behind him and knew that everyone had just gotten a good look at the new couple as they all went nuts. Happy to be out of the spotlight, even for a second, Tristan pushed forward, looking for some sight of his family. It didn't take long - he was mauled by a tiny, curly haired woman who wept into his chest, squeezing his as hard as she could possibly could. "Oh, Tristan!" she exclaimed as he brought his arms around his mother. "I'm s-s-so happy you're home!"

Tristan smiled a little and gave his mom a comforting little squeeze. "Shh, mom. It's all going to be okay." Looking over her shoulder, he spotted his aunt and uncle. His aunt was crying but also looked relieved and his uncle was holding her hand and looking at Tristan with a hollow grimace. They'd lost both of their girls - he couldn't blame them for not being end-all happy about him coming home when Ryanne hadn't.

His father stood off to the right a little, strong and stoic as ever. Tristan's dad, Daedren Whitlock, was never an especially emotional, touchy-feely man. Tristan had only ever seen him shed a tear once at Briza's funeral, but once he peeled his mother off of him and walked towards the man who had been his father and teacher, he saw the utter relief in the man's face and the shining of his eyes. Tristan felt like a little boy again, watching this stone of a man break down and to keep himself in one piece, he offered a hand for his father to shake.

Daedren knocked the hand back and pulled Tristan into a tight hug, clapping him on the back. "It's alright, son. It's alright," his aged voice rumbled softly, reminding him that despite his hard exterior, this man was his father. And that he knew exactly what Tristan had gone through.

Without meaning to, Tristan started crying, glad that for once, someone solid was there for him to hold onto.

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><p><strong>AN: Alright! So that chapter was really angsty and I'm sad to say, the one after that will probably be of a similar nature. BUT! a little angst is good for a story. It makes you feel bad for the characters, but you also just want their lives to get better!**

**Let me know what your thoughts are! What has been your favorite scene in the story so far? Whose your favorite character? I'm debating whether I should dither on the Victory Tour at all next chapter or not, so let me know if you want to read that particular bit of angst or not. What would you like the conclusion to this story to be? Are you curious about Riven? Still wondering about Lyria's family? Well stick around to find out.**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
><strong>

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Major thank you to all you reviewers, both new and old. I love hearing how much you like this story and want me to continue. It inspires the plot bunnies more than you can possibly imagine.**

**Also, this story has just become the longest currently on my account with a whopping 16 chapters and 81,000+ words.**

**As always, thank you to the most loyal of my reviewers, yo and Sarah303. To yo especially, whose reviews are always very well thought out and touch on absolutely everything she wants to say, I always look forward to see what your thoughts on my story are. You have insightful questions and you have very clear opinions, which I enjoy reading.**

**Now let's get on with the newest chapter.**

Chapter 16: More Dangerous Games

_"The most dangerous Games, I find, aren't played for the Capitol. You have far more at stake when it's your heart that's the battlefield."_

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><p><em>Seven Years Later<em>

Tristan sat on the stage, not particularly thrilled with the day so far. He'd forgotten to shave this morning in his haste to get out the door and his neck itched like hell. His chin, which was usually kind of scruffy anyway, was crowded with black stubble. The suit he'd forced himself into was from last year and with all his work in the lumberyard, he'd bulked up a little bit, so it strained against his chest a bit too tightly for his liking.

Luckily for Diana, he'd remembered his pocket watch, otherwise she would probably have been knocked off the stage by now, what with all the fussing she was doing between him and Caspar. He couldn't say he was the most patient man, but the silver watch always helped him keep calm. And besides, Diana was a good person, despite her Capitol upbringing. She legitimately cared for them - she just happened to care for their looks just as much. It was funny, listening to the verbal sparring match between his escort and fellow mentor, especially with how ragged Caspar was looking. Caspar, now 31, and Syvier, 30, had just welcomed their second child home and little Harvard had quite the set of lungs on him, apparently. Tristan was just glad he'd chosen the house closer to his parents because the newest 7 victor, Blight, was constantly complaining he could hear the kid two houses over.

"Oh, Caspar, will you never do anything about this mess you call hair?" she asked, sounding mournful and plucking at the overly long strands. Tristan had to snort in order to keep from chuckling at that. It would never end. Every year, he heard the same conversation and it always ended in a draw.

"Daft woman," Caspar responded, smacking her hand away from his hair easily. "I have done something with it. It's slicked back, isn't it?" It was, but it was longer than ever, which drove Diana up the wall. Fully decked out in orange, when she frowned, she looked like a sad jack-o-lantern. She went to pluck at the edges again, but he grabbed her wrist. "Dammit, Di, you touch my hair one more time and I swear, you will lose those perfectly manicured fingers of yours."

Diana frowned and snatched her hand back, the orange lacquer coating shimmering under the sunlight. "Fine!" she snapped, sounding hurt. Her orange lips were pulled down into a pout. "Look like a hobo! See if I care." She turned on heel and stomped to the other side of the stage in a huff.

"Obviously you do care," Caspar yelled after her, "or else you wouldn't have bugged me about it for the past 16 years!" Caspar slumped back into his seat with a sigh before turning to Tristan who was rubbing his chin stubble in order to hide a grin that kept threatening to break forth. "She's batty!" he exclaimed, and lifted a hand to run through his hair before dropping it, realizing how bad of an idea that would be. A second later, he turned back to Tristan. "Don't reckon I hurt her feelings for real, do ya?"

Tristan shrugged noncommittally. Over the past several years, Caspar had said some pretty hurtful things to Diana, hurling much worse verbal attacks than that little display, but as far as he could tell, Diana had feelings of steel and she never took much to heart. More than likely, she was acting - trying a new tactic to finally win their endless spar over his hair. If so, Tristan wasn't going to undo her work. It would be nice to see someone outwit Caspar, even if it was over something so small, it was a non-issue. "I dunno, Cas," Tristan said, doing his best to sound unsure, "she sounded pretty hurt this time. Maybe you finally went too far. I mean, she does work on those nails night and day..."

Caspar groaned, obviously not thrilled with having Diana mad at him, no matter what it was for. Five years ago, he would have told her to get over it, but ever since Isaiah had been born, Caspar had gone a bit soft. He was still sarcastic and biting but he also hated it when anyone he liked was mad at him. And despite their odd, bickering relationship, he liked Diana so having her mad at him definitely fit into the realm of bad. "What's so bad about my hair?"

Tristan swallowed a chuckle and a sarcastic comment in one go and was impressed with how even his voice sounded when he said, "I dunno. What's so great about your hair that you're so determined not to cut it?" If he won this for her, Di was going to owe him so much.

However, before Caspar could answer, the first of this year's Reaping pool showed up and Caspar's jaw shut instantaneously. They weren't supposed to talk in front of the K-I-D-S. Why? Tristan didn't know. Maybe it was to up the intimidation factor, or whatever. Point was, even if they were allowed to talk, Caspar would have shut up anyway since he rarely spoke frankly in front of people he didn't know. Which meant he had time to build up his resolve again and Diana's chance at winning had just been lost.

Tristan looked out as more and more kids began to fill into the square. Tall kids, short kids, 12 through 18, every shape and color. They were all dressed in their best, but coming from a District like 7, that really wasn't much. A lot of the older boys - even some of the girls - were dressed much like Tristan had been at his own Reaping; flannel button downs and the pair of pants with the least rips and mends.

He was startled when a flash of color caught his attention and jerked up, out of his seat to see it better. Several eyes found him, giving him odd stares, but he couldn't care less. A thin form, obviously female, was pushing through the crowd, a bright golden red braid hanging down her back like a rope made of sunlight. He couldn't see her face at all but she was going the opposite way of most of the other kids up for the Reaping and soon, he lost sight of her as she pushed her way out of the square. Hope contracted painfully in his chest until he remembered what the escort, Zoros, had told him when he'd visited 2 during his Victory Tour - after which, he'd promptly gone missing. He'd said that she was cremated, Aiden was buried and Lecks, much like Tristan had expected, was executed. But no one had any idea what had happened to Riven, Lyria's mentor. The public statement was that he had contracted some horrible disease and had stayed in the Capitol full time for treatment, but in reality, he'd vanished.

Tristan had absolutely no reason to doubt what Zoros had told him, but still, every time he saw red curls or freckles, he couldn't help but hope, even for just a second, that she'd managed to escape somehow.

The 24 year old victor fell back into his chair, feeling winded and tired. Thinking about her, even after all this time, did weird things to him. Sometimes it took a moment to remember that she wasn't there anymore - Caspar told him he was repressing it too hard if it took him five minutes to remember that the girl he'd stalked was dead - and he relived losing her all over again. And it hurt, but he didn't ever want to forget her either.

Feedback from the mic brought Tristan back to the real world where he had to swallow his sorrow and pretend like the concerned look on Caspar's face didn't bug him to no end. Diana began to speak, her Capitol voice filling the entire area with it's dulcet tone, greeting the kids. Tristan could almost imagine the overly toothy grin she would be giving the crowd and had to force back a grimace at the thought. Diana hated the Reapings and she tried too hard to convince the Capitol otherwise, coming off as overeager and a little scary. She turned around as the footage of the decimated District 13 rolled, flashing a disgusted look towards the two of them.

The Reapings always dragged on, but that could just be him watching the terrified faces of these poor kids. Every second that Diana droned on, panic grew. And Diana wasn't even one to drag it out - she tried to make this as quick and painless as possible.

As always, the girl was first. Unfortunately, the name Diana drew was of a 12 year old who burst into tears and began to hyperventilate so badly, the Peacekeeper had to carry her up to the stage. He was vaguely aware of the sound of a woman screaming in the background, the name of the child, Artemis being called out repeatedly. However, she was returned to the crowd when a 14 year old girl volunteered in her place. The new girl, Henna, stood on the stage like a stone, hardly moving for the rest of the ceremony. The boy was a chubby 15 year old with a mop of blond curls that sat on top of his head in a mess. Based on the look of him alone, he wouldn't last long. Points for a lack of fear, though.

The ceremony ended and the two were led back to the justice building where they would say their goodbyes. Tristan and Caspar headed over to where the train was already waiting for them and began the discussions for who would take which tribute. "I got the girl last year," Caspar complained. "You know how bad I am with feelings and girls are so... full of feelings! Remember Diana, this morning? I like her and I'm still insensitive."

_Well at least he admits it_, Tristan thought to himself, exasperated. "The boy looks like he eats his feelings, Cas. But if you want him, you can have him. She looked capable enough."

Tristan had actually been hoping for a bit of reverse psychology to work in his favor there, but of course, Cas was past caring if his tribute was going to survive or not, as long as he wasn't stuck on the female hormones track. He'd gladly take a tribute he knew was going to die if it meant he wouldn't have to be considerate of someone's feelings. Caspar was just... odd like that. "Thank you, Tristan, buddy! Honestly, you're a life saver." Tristan swore for a second he was going to hug him, but thankfully, he backed out of the car, going to find his room.

He didn't want the girl. Not because he held any certain dislike for her but because he didn't know if he could handle it if she turned out like Lyria. The last girl he'd been put in charge of, two years prior, hadn't been the brightest lightning bug and had died in the bloodbath tragically.

Tristan sighed. Nothing he could do now; she was his. And he would do his damnedest to keep her alive.

~Sacrificed With Love~

A couple weeks later, looking back on this entire situation, Tristan wondered why he'd ever let Caspar talk him into taking care of the girl.

Henna, it turned out, was nothing like Lyria, which was both good and bad. It was good for his sanity and concentration but really bad for her because she'd failed to capture any sort of attention during the opening ceremony, her training score was low - she'd only managed a 5 - and during her interview, she'd fallen flat on her face - like, literally on her face, nosebleed included. Not to mention, she hadn't answered any of Caesar's questions in a way that made her seem witty, brave, lovable or vicious. All in all, she was utterly forgettable - and that was just how the sponsors had seen it too.

Max had done much better, managing to play himself off as a kind of lovable oddling during the interview. He was very charismatic and had the entire audience laughing. Maybe the kid's looks didn't do him any favors but his personality certainly made up for it. His training score had done him some credit too, luckily for him, when he earned a 9.

And then the real Games had begun.

Max was much smarter than he came off and had gained more muscle than had seemed possible during his three days training. Once that gong had sounded, releasing them from their confinement on those platforms, he'd grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be a pack full of food, and high-tailed it out of there with little incident. Henna had fallen a bit behind during the supplies race and was nearly shot to death for her trouble when she went for the array of weapons. It grazed her leg - she was lucky the kid obviously wasn't very experienced with a bow and arrow - and she'd just barely managed to get away without any supplies whatsoever. Tristan rolled his eyes, prepared to exhaust her one sponsor's tiny fund for bread and water already.

Haymitch came and sat next to him, landing beside Tristan with a pleasured groan. "Nothing like a Capitol couch," the obviously inebriated man said, sounding content for once. Wordlessly, he held out a flask to Tristan. Tristan waved it off, turning his attention back to the screen.

Haymitch Abernathy was not someone who Tristan would have ever thought would end up being his friend. The man was a raging alcoholic, somewhat of a biting asshole who had little to no respect for anyone and his mouth always seemed to be spewing something toxic; whether it be venomous words or vomit was of little matter. But despite Haymitch's flaws, he was a genuine person who was very honest, even if it wasn't a pleasant honesty and in Tristan's very first year as a mentor, they'd become friends.

The drunken man glanced at the screen where all of Tristan's attention was focused with an almost sleepy countenance. Tristan knew better than that; even drunk off his ass, Haymitch was just as clever as any Gamemaker. Still, he could see why people took him for a fool as his head lolled back towards Tristan and gave him a stupid grin. "Bet you a bottle of spirits your girl dies within the week."

Coming from anyone else, this could easily be the most insensitive, asshole-ish thing to ever be uttered. Coming from Haymitch... eh, he'd definitely heard worse. And besides, it wasn't like Tristan wasn't thinking something similar as he watched her run frantically, effectively exhausting herself.

So rather than reprimand him for his commentary, or even try to make sense of this morbid young man, Tristan just rolled his eyes at his friend. Really, there was nothing else he could do. It wasn't like Haymitch gave a damn what anyone thought about him anymore. Maybe if he ever sobered up for five minutes, he might feel something akin to human emotion, but Tristan wasn't going to hold his breath. "Don't you have your own tributes to take care of?"

Tristan thought Haymitch might have sounded a bit too pleased when he said, "Nope!" popping the 'p' and taking another swig from his flask.

The victor of the 51st Hunger Games turned to look at his predecessor with wide eyes. "No?" he asked, hoping he'd heard him wrong. Despite what Haymitch tried to tell people, he hated watching these kids die because they're too weak and unprepared to take care of themselves. And he really hated being the one responsible for them when he had so little power to save them.

"No," Haymitch repeated. He sounded perfectly at ease but Tristan knew how great a liar he was. He had no doubt that whatever had been in that flask was a lot stronger than his usual white wine concoctions - probably Capitol grade alcohol. Tristan was suddenly really glad he'd declined. Haymitch was still nursing the flask when he looked back up at his friend. "The girl was taken out by a hidden landmine; blew her sky high. The kid was tripped up by something on the ground - twisted his ankle. Career finished the job." Haymitch pantomimed a blade across the throat. "You know, I didn't even bother to learn their names this year..."

God, it was awful to watch Haymitch suffer like this. Every year, he was forced to take on tributes who were practically already tied up in nooses, just waiting for the floor to drop out from under them. He'd had his family and girlfriend snatched out from under him and he was the only surviving victor from 12. He was the loneliest person Tristan had ever met.

Well, maybe not the loneliest...

All of a sudden, the cannon sounded and Haymitch's head jerked up fast, scanning all the screens. "Well, looky there," the District 12 man said, a rather weak smile spreading over his face. "Looks like you owe me a bottle of liquor, Trist!"

Tristan's mine reacted slowly to the sudden jump in conversation. _He... owed him... what?_ A second later, the meaning of his words resonated in Tristan's mind and he jerked to look at the screen and caught the tail-end of Henna's death as one of those Careers lifted the foot off her neck. The girl tribute - the one from 2 because whatever ran the universe liked to see Tristan suffer - glanced around, paranoid before fleeing the scene quickly. Well... _fuck_.

That was how Tristan found himself at the victory ball, watching that stupid boy from 1 get all the attention. (Not that Tristan wanted any attention. Oh, no, he was perfectly happy to just fly under the radar here.) What kind of name was Gloss for a boy, anyway? What had his parents been thinking? Sure, more often than not, District 1 tributes had very jaded, fancy names that just implied how superior they are to you, no matter who you are. Take Jewel, for instance, or, a couple years back, there'd been a girl named Precious. But for a boy to be named something like Gloss... He'd have been that kid everyone bullied back in his district.

Every once in a while, one of the other winners would approach Tristan and try to strike up a conversation, though Haymitch seemed to be driving various Capitol people away from him left and right as he reiterated the complete mess Tristan had been the first year after his Games. The District 7 male wasn't quite sure if this was intentional or not, but regardless, resolved to thank him later.

One person was bound to slip through, though. Tristan was just sorry that it was a Gamemaker.

A boisterous man who introduced himself as Plutarch Heavensbee, one of the newer Gamemakers, sidled up beside him, evidently thinking that Tristan was going to be his new best friend. Tristan didn't know why on Earth he thought that. It wasn't like he was sending out come hither vibes or anything. In fact, he was probably one of the least friendly people in this room, surpassed only by Haymitch and that horrible woman from 11. However, Tristan tolerated his presence, not encouraging the conversation in any way but not exactly demanding he leave him be, either. He was perfectly willing to keep this up until the man grew bored and left. That was, until he grabbed Tristan's pocket watch by the chain and pulled it right from his pocket.

Tristan immediately snatched the gorgeous silver watch back, baring his teeth and unconsciously making a low growl sound. Plutarch, obviously startled, took a couple steps back. "Don't touch this," Tristan ground out, "ever."

Plutarch held his hands up in the universal sign for surrender, regarding Tristan as if he were some wild animal. And maybe he was. Even after all this time, after all the work he put into trying to be okay with what had happened in the arena, he was still just that wild shadow of a man who'd killed Aiden in a fit of rage and cold-blood. "I'm sorry," he managed, tripping over his own tongue, "I didn't mean to offend you or overstep any boundaries. I just admire fine things."

"Then you should be my biggest fan," a silky voice purred from just behind Tristan. Still in a more primal state of mind, he whirled on her as well and was met with a sleek figure. Pale skin was made alabaster by the inky black dress that formed to her slender body as if it were painted on. She gave him a sultry look. "Down boy," she said, her voice like sugary molasses. Dark eyes peeked out from behind a curtain of dark hair, sizing him up hungrily. "I came over to ask you if you wanted to dance with my friend over there." She swiped the midnight black strands away from her face before gesturing back a bit. Her friend seemed to be occupied by Haymitch who was hanging off of her tiny frame, laughing hard at something or other.

Tristan's heart seized up at the sight of the other woman. Red hair was pinned back into orderly curls and a thin frame looked ready to collapse underneath Haymitch. He couldn't tell from here, but he thought she had freckles, though a mask hid most of her facial features. It wasn't uncommon - other Captiol residents walked about with masks - but he wished she would remove it so he could see just how crazy he'd gone this time.

The former victor shook himself of his stupor and straightened. "Please let her know that I must respectfully decline, but I appreciate the offer."

The woman cocked one smoothly arced eyebrow at him, but shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling elegantly. "Your loss," she said smoothly, turning on heel to return to her friend. The girl looked hopeful for a moment but it quickly turned to a look of disappointment. Tristan tried not to feel guilty.

Plutarch picked this moment to pipe back up. "Women," he exclaimed with a slight chuckle, watching the dark haired seductress walk away with a bit of a leer. To be fair, if Tristan was a normal man, he wouldn't have been able to refuse either of them. "I swear, they're worse than mutts. The most dangerous Games, I find, aren't played for the Capitol. You have far more at stake when it's your heart that's the battlefield." He winked at Tristan, as if he was in on some great secret. "There aren't any Gamemakers to intervene in matters of the heart, after all, but women are almost as manipulative." Tristan wondered if he realized what he was talking about or just how close to the truth he was in this case. Plutarch shook his head but his eyes gave Tristan a very meaningful look. "Love isn't clockwork. Sometimes there's a grind in the gears but it doesn't mean that the time has died."

Honestly, Tristan was beyond lost. Plutarch was speaking in metaphors and he wasn't nearly expressive enough for Tristan to understand what he was saying based on nonverbal cues. "Time... died? What?" Saying it out loud just made him feel even stupider. "What are you going on about?"

Plutarch's face was suddenly a bright smile again, any pretense of what just been said disappearing. _The hell?_ "You're right, Tristan. I do believe we've killed enough time here. I'm sure you have more important people to speak to." Plutarch inclined his head to the victor respectfully before he began to walk off, but before he disappeared into the crowd, he turned back around. "By the way, that really is a lovely watch. I believe it will stay safe in your capable hands." The man's smile had a bit of a downward twist to it. He spun around and before Tristan could blink, had disappeared back into the crowd.

Now why did he get the feeling they weren't talking about pocket watches anymore?

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan laid in his bed, glad to home after such a taxing Games and contemplating just staying there for the rest of the day. But, fact was, Haymitch probably wasn't going to let him off the hook about that supposed "bet" he'd made against Tristan's tribute - even though Tristan had actually never agreed to it - and it was just easier to ship off a bottle of Scarlet's Brew and be done with it. Which meant he had to get up, go to Scarlet's little hidey-hole and then bribe the next train going that way to make sure it got to Haymitch.

Tristan heaved himself up, out of bed and went to take a quick shower. He didn't have to shave because those damn Capitol people had, like, waxed his neck hair or something and now it wasn't growing back. He hadn't let them touch his chin stubble which was still short enough to just leave be.

He dressed himself in a pair of jeans and a flannel checkered shirt, figuring that since he was up anyway, he might want to go help out at the lumberyard or whatever before he went back home. Tristan strode over to where he'd tossed his jacket yesterday and reached in for the pocket watch, not wanting to leave it behind for any amount of time. He was confused, however, to come in contact with not only the watch but... a piece of paper. He pulled it from the pocket of his coat, habitually tucking the watch away as he looked at the note curiously. This had Haymitch written all over it but upon opening it, he didn't find Haymitch's half-drunk chicken scratch penmanship. The writing on the inside of the note was curling and precise and it read:

_Tristan Whitlock,_

_The Game never ends; the ticking never stops. Life is very much like a clock._

_Her time still ticks._

_If you want to see for yourself, you must shed all things from your time in District 7. We will be waiting for you past the boundaries of your old life._

That was it. There was nothing to hint who sent it. There was no indication as to what they wanted from him - except giving up his entire life, that is. If it weren't for that one line, he would have already burned it. But there it was. _Her time still ticks. _Whoever wrote this knew him and knew exactly what would reach him best. Even without a name, he knew to whom they were referring and despite how illogical it was, he couldn't help but... _hope_, if even just a little. What if this sender really did have her with them?

Tristan shoved the note in his pocket, suddenly feeling very jittery. His hand brushed against the engraved surface of the watch and he had to fight to keep from pulling it out, right then and there. For so many years, he'd thought that was all he had left of her. What if he had been wrong?

He pushed thought of the note, of the watch and of Lyria to the back of his mind and swallowed hard before leaving his house. The morning was a little brisk but he couldn't be bothered to go back inside for a jacket. Not like he really minded the cold anyway. He started down the long, circular path that connected all the houses in the Victor's Village together. He decided to take the long way around, looking in through the window at his mother first. Marian Whitlock looked ages older than she was. It was all that worrying she did over his father, he knew, who was starting to succumb to a disease he'd contracted in the arena over 30 years before, a side effect of one of the obstacles the Gamemakers had put in his way, slowly deteriorating his lungs down to their barest tissues.

His mother would be well taken care of. Any one of the Victor's currently occupying the village would make sure of it. If Tristan should happen to disappear, that was. He shook his head. He couldn't go see either of them, knowing it could be the last time. He was just thankful that he could see his father standing on the balcony that overlooked the forest, tall and strong.

He continued his rounds, passing Blight's house with very little remorse and just a little nostalgia. It was when he reached Caspar and Syvier's house that he had to pause. Isaiah was sitting next to Syvier with Caspar holding little Harvard by her side in the front room. It looked like Syvier was reading and Caspar was bouncing little Harvard to keep him from getting fussy. He couldn't help but envy them for a second. Two children and a happy marriage. Sure, they were both tried as hell with a newborn and every year, Caspar had to go train kids to be fodder for the Capitol's fancies, but at the end of it all, he could forget - go home to his wife and two sons and be happy. Tristan had never had that kind of luxury. He belonged to someone he believed to be dead. Her death and the other's weighed heavily on his conscious and he had nothing to distract from it.

Tristan heaved a sigh and continued into town. Most people avoided him these days. He wasn't much for talking and people who worked in the lumberyard with him knew just how edgy he could be. Once, one of the moor foolish guys on the team loudly declared that Tristan was a "cradle-snatching coward who chose to hide behind a child's remains rather than move forward with his life." Tristan had put a stop to this quickly, nearly killing the slanderer in the process. Word passed around and he wasn't so stable and he became the leper of District 7. He doubted anyone in town would miss him if he vanished.

Scarlet's was behind the old butcher shop, in his basement. It always smelled of bitter spirits and week old meat but she was the best on the black market as far as alcohol went. Scarlet was a young woman, maybe thirty, who always wore a scarf around the top of her head and beaded skirts that jingled every time she walked. She had an odd array of necklaces that clanked together and that she claimed had special properties.

She alone was completely unafraid of Tristan and the Capitol, claiming that "her people" had always been prosecuted and they'd managed to thrive.

Tristan clomped down the stairs, knocking quickly on the wall as he went to alert her that he was a friend. He reached the bottom step to catch sight of her stowing the knife she'd pulled to protect herself. "Ah, Tristan. How are you, m'dear?" she asked, her voice thick with an old accent.

"Good," Tristan grunted. "How'd business going?" He was going for conversational but it came off as more of a plea to get attention from him. Scarlet was a mystical woman and as far as Tristan was concerned, one of the best people in 7. But he couldn't spill his secrets to her this time. He couldn't endanger her that way.

Her white-blue eyes found him and gave him a knowing look as she rummaged through a crate in the corner. "Those damned Peacekeepers keep poking their noses around, trying to catch me. But I am too clever for that. So what are you in for?"

As if she didn't know. She came up with a bottle of her brew and put it on the counter. Tristan handed over some coins and she inclined her head to him, causing her long corn blond hair to fall over her shoulder in it's usual abundance of braids. "Thank you, Scarlet," he said, grabbing the bottle and putting it in a paper bag to conceal it. Not that anyone would really care if they saw a victor with alcohol.

She nodded again, knowingly. "I will miss you."

Tristan wasn't shocked that she knew he wasn't coming back. What was shocking was that Tristan realized she was right - that she knew he was leaving even before he'd fully decided it himself. But he was lying, even to himself. If he thought he hadn't been decided about his course of action, he was delusional. The second he'd opened that note, read those lines, his mind had been made up. Tristan smiled at her. "And I will miss you."

The male victor left Scarlet's and made his way to the train station. A substantial bribe had the bottle of Scarlet's heading off to 12, along with a note with a little extra cash to ensure that it wouldn't be read before it reached Haymitch. Nothing like money to make a man mind his own business.

And with all that finished, he headed toward the lumberyard. The people there were cowed by his mere presence. Women and men cleared a path for him to where the axes and and saws laid, no one daring to cross it. He moved slowly and surely, picking up an ax easily with one hand and moving off towards the woods where he knew no one would be. He ignored the way the silence that had fallen over the area broke the second he'd left. He didn't care anyway - he wasn't going to be part of their freak show anymore. _We will be waiting for you past the boundaries of your old life. _It was obvious - his old life ended at the edges of District 7.

District 7 was an odd place to live. Due to their primary export, their boundaries of 7 were constantly fluxing to accommodate the needs of the lumberjacks and as such, fences were often left down because of how much extra work it was to put them up. A couple people disappeared from 7 each year but most were too scared to even attempt it. For a victor of the Hunger Games, it was nothing to keep going past where they'd been restricted.

Tristan continued walking for a long time, pausing when he heard a distant noise. He stood still, listening as it got closer. It had been some time since he'd heard one of these come for him in person. Looking up, he spotted a hovercraft.

It was over. The Capitol had caught him.

There was nothing he could do now - he was resigned to his fate. That was why, when the ladder fell, he numbly grabbed it, not caring anymore. It froze him in place and lifted him up, inside of the craft. But once inside, no guns were pointed at his head and no one knocked him out. People who didn't look anything like those from the Capitol stared at him, some with wide smiles. Tristan looked around, confused. Someone stepped forward; a man, maybe a little older than Tristan himself. "Tristan Whitlock?" he asked, holding out a hand for him to shake.

Tristan hesitantly reached out and grasped the proffered hand, responding with an unsure, "Um, yeah."

The man's smile was familiar, though not something he'd actually ever seen. Just... reminiscent. "You're in good hands here, Tristan. My name is Davath Lake, former citizen of District 2 and current member of District 13." Davath gave him a knowing look. "I know you probably have a lot of questions but first, I believe you're looking for my little sister."

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><p><strong>AN: I think I am the embodiment of evil. The next chapter will be up soon, since I no longer have anything to fill my days. Unless I get that job at Barnes & Noble. Cross your fingers for me.**

**So! Let me know what you think. Clock euphemisms are obviously not my thing, but hey, I tried. Are you looking forward to Lyria and Tristan's reunion? Are you curious as to how she's alive? What happened to Riven? Why was Lecks executed? Why do you think District 13 and Lyria herself waited so long to tell Tristan about her survival if she was alive the entire time? Well you'll just have to continue reviewing and reading to find out.**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
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**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm so very sorry for the wait. I found Coin very hard to characterize, especially a younger Coin who would not be nearly as collected. So, yes, this has been a very difficult chapter for me, though the next should be easier so hopefully it comes to me faster.**

**Thanks to all the reviewers! Anne Silverfire, yo, Sarah303, and M I think you all know how much I appreciate you. But I'd also like to give a shout out to two of my newer reviewers, schylur-shay93 and MissDizzyD. I really appreciate the time you take to let me know what you think of all the chapters - it's really amazing of you guys. I hope you all stay with it to the end and keep loving it up until the last period.  
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**yo, here's another response for you; Scarlet's characterization, the stereotypical Roma woman thing, survived through her family, but maybe not over all. She is from a long line of women with the 3rd eye. I just didn't think she was important enough to write out that explanation. And no, by the end, he didn't see her as a sister. He just wouldn't act on his feelings because it would have been wrong at the time.**

Chapter 17: The Past Speaks

_"_I am not the rebellion. I am collateral damage._"_

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><p>By the time Tristan had landed in 13, he'd been informed on pretty much everything. They'd told him how it was possible that 13 was still standing, despite what the Capitol had been telling them all these years and how Lyria had survived after the Games. Or really, been resurrected. Davath had done all the talking and answered any questions that Tristan had with a smile. He was a lot like Lyria, but knowing that she was alive made that thought kind of funny rather than painful. He could see their similarities so clearly and their differences even more so.<p>

Davath, like Lyria, had a highly expressive face that conveyed emotions and thoughts like a big flashing sign. Even the tiniest movements of an eyebrow or a quirk of the lips told Tristan leagues about what was running through the other man's mind. They had the same smile that dimpled on one side. He even told Tristan that the freckles that had made Lyria so unique during her time in the Games had once been a shared trait, but over time, his had faded under his tanned skin and his toning had evened out to a light bronze similar to Tristan's coloring, if a little lighter. Tristan could definitely tell that he'd spent a fair amount of time out in the sun, even if he was supposed to be confined underground in the 13 barracks.

The differences were also pretty palpable. For one, Davath had a much more amicable personality and his temperament was fairly even. At points, Tristan had even attempted to piss him off, accusing him of abandoning Lyria and other nonsense things and he'd just laughed it off.

"It wasn't my choice to leave her, you know," the brown haired boy had told Tristan seriously, holding his gaze for a moment. He was no Lyria when it came to lying - he had no talent for covering up his emotions - so Tristan couldn't doubt that it was the truth. "But my dad said that it was important at the time and that I would understand when I was older."

Tristan couldn't see any sense in leaving your 4 year old behind to fend for herself. "Do you?" Tristan asked. "Understand?"

Davath cocked his head to the side - another mannerism he and Lyria shared - and a little bit of a bitter smirk twisted up one side of his lips. "Not even a little." Tristan had figured as much. Davath shook his head mournfully. "What I do understand is that my father is unwell and has been for a very long time. He thought he was doing her a favor by leaving her in 2. I'm not so sure he didn't know she was going to have to compete in the Games eventually. He is a brilliant man and Lyria was practically bred for the Games."

Tristan asked what he meant by that, but Davath had refused to answer, telling him that it wasn't important and then going into the specifics of how the rebellious District 13 had managed to get into the Capitol effectively and steal the body of a tribute who was considered an enemy.

"Plutatch," Davath said with a smirk, "the man who slipped you the note, is not the only spy that we have set up in the Capitol. There are many others - including skilled Capitol healers who could very easily seal up a couple of stab wounds. They set her up on a ventilator and a little less than an hour later, she was alive and kicking. And I do mean that literally. One of the healers got a broken clavicle to prove it."

Tristan couldn't help but grin at that - sounded just like her.

~Sacrificed With Love~

_The healer worked over the tiny form with sure hands, keeping a close watch on the monitors. They had her heart being paced by a machine keeping her on the brink of living and another machine that tested her blood at regular intervals to ensure that enough was going to her brain. If she went brain dead, all this effort would be wasted._

_He sewed the wound up carefully, making sure that all the edges lined up properly. Snipping the string when he was finished, he instructed a nurse to put some quick healing salve on it. Two blood transfusions down and it looked like she was going to need a third if her pale cheeks were anything to go by. But it was enough for now. Everything else could be taken care of when they weren't in danger of being caught. "Nurse," the healer said, pulling down the mask that went over his face to speak. "Bring her back to us."_

_The Capitol woman nodded, her pinned back pink curls bouncing a little at the motion as the other nurse put the lid back on the jar of the quick-healing salve. If you looked closely, you could see the redness around the stab wound starting to fade already._

_The nurse brought forward another machine and began charging it. The body before them waited, lips bloodless and cheeks a white ill-befitting of a living person. The machine beeped and the woman said, "Clear," before laying the two charged paddles onto her chest. A shock ran through the body of the girl, jostling her roughly as her body jackknifed upwards. The machine that monitored her heartbeat gave a harsh screech before returning to it's paced rhythm. Lyria didn't move. The woman charged the two paddles again. "Clear," she repeated, laying the paddles on the little red-head's chest again. The body jerked upwards, following the course of the shock and the monitor gave another awful shriek._

_And then a steady beep... beep... beep... that was about double the rate that the pacer had set sounded and quickly climbed._

_Lyria's eyes flew open._

_Before the healer could blink, the little girl was moving, struggling to get off of the gurney and aiming to attack anyone who tried to stop her. "Tristan," she shrieked, shoving a nurse's outstretched hand away wildly as tears streamed down her face. "Tristan! Help me!" She was tearing wires out of her skin and battling as the nurses tried to soothe her. The healer didn't think she knew what was happening - her eyes were open but unfocused and kept darting around._

_She was overpowering the nurses and had managed to get over halfway off the gurney - adrenaline was a powerful thing. Seeing this, the healer jumped in, grabbing both of her shoulders and shoving her downwards onto the gurney as best he could. Why he thought this would work, he wasn't sure. Especially a moment later when she bucked especially hard and kicked wildly - blindly. Her tiny bare foot connected directly with his clavicle and he felt and heard it snap underneath the sudden pressure. The pain hit about a half second later and he staggered back, emitting a pained moan._

_Oddly enough, this was what stopped her in her tracks. Barely audible above the racket she and the disconnected machines were making in the small room, but it held her in place better than any physical restraint. She was breathing hard and her eyes were still unfocused. It was impossible to guess what she was seeing right now as those gorgeous eyes peered around, confused.  
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_"Tristan?" she asked, sounding meek and very much like the child she appeared to be._

_Seeing their chance, both nurses grabbed her, each taking a wrist and shoulder and forcing her down onto the gurney. She screeched loudly, attempting to fight them off again, but it was futile - that half second of confusion had lost her the advantage and they already had her strapped down._

_Not to say that stopped Lyria from continuing her attempts to free herself. Her torso still jerked violently and her hips bucked off the bed in order to kick at everything and everything. She strained against her wrist restraints so hard that the other occupants of the room heard it when her shoulder disconnected from it's socket. She screamed, this time in pain, and fought even harder. The nurses quickly secured another restraint around her middle, stopping her from hurting herself anymore than she already had and then won the fight against her feet. Lyria had begun to cry, sobbing hysterically, her eyes shut tight but the images from the arena haunted her even from inside her own mind._

_The healer grabbed a pail of water and unceremoniously threw it over her tiny form. This momentarily silenced her as she coughed and sputtered and he took advantage of the temporary quiet. "LYRIA!" he roared, "You are safe! We are trying to help you! Stop fighting."_

_Lyria whimpered meekly. "Safe?" she asked, as if she couldn't quite believe it. "I'm safe?"_

_Lyria's mind settled slowly and she blinked back the images the arena had left her with. Aiden's distorted face glaring down at her as she died was swept away and her eyes focused on the metal ceiling. The tears blurred everything, but she could feel the hand on her head and hear the soothing voice of a woman say, "Yes, you are safe, little one." Lyria gave a pained smile and the pink-haired nurse stroked her hair until she fell back into peaceful unawareness._

~Sacrificed With Love~

Tristan sat at a table, drumming his fingers across the surface with an antsy countenance. He wasn't sure why he was still being made to wait. He'd been here for over an hour and they'd left Davath to keep him company. Davath had very little information concerning Lyria after her safe transportation to 13, so, as much as he had come to like her brother, finding out where she was and being taken to her was his main priority.

"So when was the last time you saw her?" Tristan said, breaking the pause in conversation. He'd waited seven years and while he was sure he could wait longer, he didn't particularly want to.

Davath seemed to take a moment to think it over, scratching at the side of his cheek absently with one hand and looking over at the far left wall as if it was going to give him the answer to the question. His head bounced back and forth a few times before he finally shrugged. "I think it's been about a month since I've seen her. Occasionally, she just shows up on the upper levels. I don't know where they're keeping her or her mentor. Some rumors even go that she's down in the deepest levels, trying to help 13 put an end to the Games and others say she's completely offsite because she refused to work with the President and incite a rebellion. I'm more inclined to believe the latter."

Somehow, Tristan was too. But something else Davath said caught Tristan's attention. "I'm sorry," Tristan said, "what was that about her mentor?" Tristan hadn't given much thought to what might have actually happened to her mentor - he hadn't really cared, as horrible as that might sound. But if he'd been here with Lyria the whole time... well, it really made no difference, but that was one mystery solved.

"Lyria's mentor, Riven, came with her-"

"And he's been a pain in my side ever since," a woman's voice interjected as the doors were tossed open and an older woman walked in. Davath immediately jumped to his feet in respect and Tristan followed suit, if a bit slower on the uptake. "Solider Lake, you may be seated," she says and Davath relaxes and sits back down. The woman then turns to Tristan, her plain eyes practically glaring holes through him. She's not old by any means - maybe late 30's - but her gaze is intense. "Tristan Whitlock, how... admirable of you to join us." The way she says it doesn't make him feel very admired. "I am President Coin, leader of 13. It is nice to meet you."

Tristan is glad when she doesn't offer to shake his hand. She reminded him of a cobra. He nods his head, mustering the most respectful look he can manage. "Nice to meet you as well, ma'am." Coin gestured for him to sit and he complied. "Now, about Lyria," he starts as she makes her way to the head of the table.

Coin's shoulders tensed visibly. "Ah, yes. Ms. Lake." The way she hissed out her name gave Tristan the impression that Lyria respectfully - or maybe not so respectfully - declined to participate in whatever Coin was asking of her. Because by this woman's demeanor alone, he knew she hadn't saved Lyria out of the kindness in her heart. Coin gave a tight smile and began speaking; "Ms. Lake is living off-site at this point in time. She had a... difference in opinion with all of us here in 13 about her place among us and chose to remove herself." A mug full of a brownish liquid was set down in front of Coin and she gripped it tightly, taking a sip that seemed to last forever to Tristan. When she set the mug back down, she said nothing more. To Tristan, this was unacceptable.

In attempt to keep his voice even and his demeanor outwardly calm, his bit the inside of his mouth for a couple seconds, trying to diffuse the anger building in his insides. He'd waited so long for this so this whole keeping quiet thing was really starting to agitate him. Tristan cleared his throat and forced a polite tone and smile; "And where is she now?" he asked, his impatience managing to grind it's way through his ruse and into his tone.

Coin looked unimpressed and even a bit agitated herself. "Mr. Whitlock, believe it or not, Lyria Lake is not the center of my focus, nor the reason you were asked to come here. I understand you have a... connection with her, but she is not even within the walls of 13 at this moment, so it would be wise for you to forget her for the time being."

Yes, because that was really going to calm him down. God, this Coin woman was just infuriating. He tightened his fist, knuckles whitening at the sudden pressure and resisted the urge to burst out in anger. "If you didn't ask me here for Lyria, then why did you?" he asked, mustering all the patience he could manage - not a great amount at this particular moment. If he had the opportunity, he would have already removed himself from her company and gone to find a younger woman who was a completely different type of maddening. Honestly, so far, he wasn't impressed.

Coin sighed, seeming impatient herself. "13, as you know, has a deal with Capitol - we're allowed to live how we want as long as no one else knows, and because we are so matched in weapons power but would be overpowered if it came down to a war of individuals, we have had to keep to this agreement." The President grabbed the cup just in front of her and took another sip. Why wouldn't someone just take the damn mug away from her already? It was obviously too distracting for her and he wasn't getting the answers he wanted fast enough. She was so inclined to make him late, but he was becoming less and less inclined to help her with whatever she was proposing. That pocket watch didn't have nearly as much of a calming effect when the person he really wanted was within reach and being kept away by one mere obstacle - Coin. "However, we think that if we were able to air your touching story - even perhaps a reunion between you and Lyria - we could begin to rally the Districts behind our ideals and against the Capitol."

Tristan was speechless for a moment and stared at the woman across from him as if she had lost her senses. Honestly, Tristan wasn't 100% sure that she hadn't. "You're talking about a rebellion?" he asked. A single nod would confirm his suspicion and he could see the delight in her eyes as he pushed up from the table and stood. She thought he was going to agree to it. Tristan gave a small chuckle. "If you think any of the Districts are ready for a rebellion, you're off your head."

Coin looked shell-shocked and mildly offended. She started to scramble to counter his statement, but he silenced her by continuing, "And I suppose this was the offer you made Lyria. You wanted her for the rebellion as well."

Coin's silence was the only answer he needed.

Tristan shook his head as if they were a disappointment. Honestly, anyone who thought Lyria would instigate a full-out war on the Capitol or be the face of rebellion didn't know a thing about her. And anyone who thought he would favor a war that she didn't knew nothing about about him. He felt it was needless to say it, but say it he did; "I refuse the offer."

Coin seemed to take a moment to compose herself, regaining her calm cool demeanor before giving Tristan a singular nod. "I see. I cannot say that I am happy about your decision, but it was yours to make." Coin sighed a little and stood. "Very well. I suppose you will be wanting to see Ms. Lake now." Tristan had to physically bite the inside of his lip in order to keep from making a smartass remark. There was no suppose about it - he wanted to see her. He wanted to know that it was true - what they were telling him, what he'd always subconsciously known and hoped. "I cannot provide transportation to her off-site residence due to the danger of our hovercraft being sighted, but I can provide a guide and provisions. It will be up to you to reach her."

Tristan could live with that. He inclined his head towards her politely. "Thank you, President Coin, for your help."

~Sacrificed With Love~

_"No," Lyria stated with conviction, "I will not let you drag me or Tristan into your politics."_

_Lyria had been in recovery for several months before anyone had thought she was ready for this meeting - physically or mentally - and now her psychiatrist was regretting signing his go ahead. She seemed perfectly sane right now, but she was ill-tempered and wasn't taking to the idea like everyone was expecting of her. Everyone had expected her to jump at it after what the Capitol had done to her. They were promising her revenge and a reunion with that boy from 7 she seemed so fond of in the arena. That was the most shocking part, actually. The moment they'd told her they could retrieve Tristan, she'd steadfastly refused it._

_Coin was losing her patience with this girl, and fast. She hadn't been thrilled about Lyria's apparent takeover of the country in the Games - she'd been hoping for someone older and with less of an independent nature. She'd wanted someone she could manipulate easily. Lyria was not biting and her main selling point - Tristan - had turned out not to be a selling point at all._

_"We need you," one of the healers who attended to her physical needs over the last couple months said. "You were like the entire nation's child. Every fear they ever had came true with you - their child left all alone to fend for themselves, their child put into the Games, their child killed in the Games. If you came back from the dead, if you ordered it so, every parent in all of Panem would stand up behind you!" The other's in the room nodded and Coin stared steadfastly at the girl who showed no sign of a change of heart. "You are the rebellion."_

_Lyria looked like she was thinking, her eyes avoiding the stare of everyone in the room and bouncing to different points on the ceiling. "Say that's true - that I am like the nation's child. It's not by my command that they would have rushed to avenge me, but by my death. In this, I was more valuable dead than alive. A martyr for your cause, if you will." She crossed her arms across her chest. "But by bringing me back, you lost your greatest sympathy factor - the fact that I was dead. I mean, sure, you could shut me off somewhere and pretend I'm still dead or, hey, you could kill me all over again." Lyria took a second to look around and was relieved to see that no one seemed to think that was actually an option; she'd been going out on a bit of a limb there. "But it wouldn't change anything. If the rebellion were to happen by my doing, it would have happened months ago. I am not the rebellion. I am collateral damage."_

_For a moment, everyone sat in silence, letting her words sink in. Most of them saw that she was right - her death had been her most valuable asset to their cause - but some thought she could still be of use._

_"No," Lyria repeated for what seemed the billionth time in this meeting. "If I thought the Districts were ready to rebel - ready for a war - I might change my mind. But they are not. They would be crushed and you decimated." She stood now, drawing up to her full height and staring down everyone at the table, her gaze lingering on Coin. "One day, they will be, and you will find someone to lead your rebellion, but it will not be me and I refuse to be a part of it."_

_Lyria resumed her seat and then the argument started up. The higher ups were still trying to force the issue but Coin sat in perfect calm, just like Lyria. Suddenly, a soldier jolted up and out of his chair and shouted, "She said no!"_

_Lyria lifted her head upwards in order to get a good look at her defender. He was tall with brown hair and brown eyes. She raised one eyebrow at him and he gave her a weak smile. Lyria shook her head, her red curls bouncing off her shoulders in every direction. "Well if it isn't my long lost brother."_

_Davath, only 19 by this time, and consumed with guilt for leaving her, could only manage a simple, "Hey, Lyr."_

_Coin seemed to think this was a good place to interject. The woman stood herself. "Solider Lake, it would be in your best interest to remember your place in the future." Davath looked down at the ground, feeling a bit cowed by the older woman. "But you are right. Ms. Lake has declined our offer for her own reasons and it would be best for both parties if we just accept her decision." Coin wasn't pleased by this development, but saw no one was getting anywhere with all the arguing. "Now, I believe this meeting is over with. We will reconvene at a later date to decide the best course of action. You are dismissed."_

_Lyria was grateful to have that over with and was among the first to exit the room. Riven had been banned from the meeting due to some outbursts he'd had in the past on her behalf, but he waited for her just outside the door and gave her a ginormous hug. "You showed them," he told her proudly and she couldn't help but grin._

_Davath approached the two of them slowly and from their positioning, Riven spotted him first. The former winner of the Games stared at him distrustfully and Lyria followed his gaze. She smiled brightly. "It's alright Riven. That's my big brother, Davath." Davath felt even more nervous when the man didn't relax at all. He reminded Davath of a large guard dog - a vicious German Sheppard-Pit Bull mix. He was tensed protectively and Davath could vividly imagine him growling and snapping at him if he got too close.  
><em>

_Lyria, on the other hand, seemed completely blase about his presence and even a bit pleased. He hadn't expected a warm welcome, but he sure wasn't going to complain. He was even more shocked when she came up and gave him a hug. "So where're mom and dad?"_

_Davath's heart seized in his chest. So this was to be his punishment. He rubbed the back of his head. "Well, Lyr, mom died a couple years back. She always felt so guilty about leaving you and when this sickness started going around, she couldn't get better." Lyria's smile had fallen by now and Davath could barely stand to look at her as tears formed in her impossibly blue eyes. "The healer said that the constant state of depression had weakened her body and the sickness was too much for her." Davath physically had to look away as the first of her tears began to fall down her face. "I'm sorry."_

_"And dad?" she asked, her voice breaking._

_"He's fine," Davath told her quickly. "He works in the deeper levels of 13 and doesn't come up a whole lot, but he's fine. Still pretty confused, though. Sometimes he forgets that we're not in 2 anymore and he'll run throughout the halls yelling your name." Davath hated those nights when he had to chase down his poor confused father and explain to him that he'd left his little girl behind. When memory of the event returned, Liam Lake cried and apologized to an absent Lyria repeatedly. It was hard to see his father like that. "He doesn't know you're alive yet. They thought it might be too much for him after he found out you and Uncle Lecks were both dead."_

_Lyria wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Take me to him - please."_

~Sacrificed With Love~

Very few people were privy to the knowledge of Lyria's location and even less knew the way there, but there were a small handful of soldiers who occasionally visited her to trade and such. She lived far in the north, a couple miles away from some wild tribes of people that had escaped the Capitol's control. It was a hard and long trek there with his guide, but he made it.

At first glance, it looked like one of those old homes that you could find in any of the given districts - the ones from before the dark times that had managed to escape destruction. It wasn't grand - a little brick thing, about half the size of one of the homes in Victor's Village and double that of a normal home. But it looked structurally sound and well cared for. There was little wooden porch that wrapped around the front of the house that should have rotted through by now but had obviously been redone. A wood pile sat at the corner of the porch, ready for use, and the chimney puffed away.

Tristan stood on the edge of the property, his guide already having left, and just stared for a while. Could she really be here? What if this was some cruel joke? What if this was a dream? Could he even survive the pain it would cause if this weren't real?

Miraculously, he managed a step. He had to talk himself into the next ten or so and then walked on autopilot until he stood directly in front of the door. He couldn't even recall walking up the steps. He shuffled from foot to foot nervously for a moment before finally gathering enough nerve to raise his fist and give the door three good taps. The second his hand dropped back down to his side, his nerve broke and he felt like sprinting in the opposite direction, screaming into the night. But that pocket watch seemed to become heavier in his pocket, anchoring him to the spot and reminding him of the reason he was here. For a second, it seemed like no one was there and all that hope had indeed been for nothing. There was silence on the other side of the door. Tristan's heart broke all over again. He'd been so foolish to believe.

But then a sound - something hit the ground and clattered against the floor. It was the most wonderful clatter Tristan ever heard and it was followed by footsteps. The door was flung open and a pair of blue-green eyes focused in on Tristan.

"Who are you?" the man asked of Tristan, sounding confused. "Why are you here?"

Tristan blinked. Those eyes were her's but this man was so obviously not. He was tall, sort of thinly built, with dark hair streaked through with grey. On the bridge of his nose sat a pair of wiry thin glasses that were tilted slightly, as if they were bent out of shape a time or two. There was a pencil stuck behind his ear and he was dressed in long pajamas. Tristan registered who this was without really thinking about it. "Liam Lake?" he asked the man cautiously.

The tension in the older man's brow relaxed a little and he looked at Tristan with relief. "You know me?" he asked Tristan hopefully. "Have we met before?"

Tristan shook his head. "No," he said, causing Liam's hopeful expression to fall a little bit. "We've never met, Mr. Lake. But I used to know your daughter." Liam cocked his head to the side a bit, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. "Your daughter and I competed in the Hunger Games together. We had an alliance."

Liam still looked confused, like the idea of a daughter had never occurred to him within his lifetime, let alone had one himself. But after a second, understanding dawned bright in his eyes. "My daughter. You know my daughter!" The man seemed delighted now, opening the door wider for Tristan who hesitantly stepped through. The front room a bit of a mess and papers were scattered everywhere. "My daughter, Lyria. She's alive, you know. I am so happy to see her again. My dear little angel." He turned back to Tristan, suddenly looking serious. "Do you understand?"

Tristan blinked at the sudden change in demeanor. "Understand what?"

Liam narrowed his eyes at the boy for a second, sizing him up before looking away and shrugging. "Understand? What's there to understand?" he asked the room at large. The older man then began to walk towards the open door at the back of the room. Tristan, unsure of what else to do began to follow. "Have you seen my son around recently?" Liam suddenly asked, turning back to Tristan in a flash. "I haven't seen him around this morning."

For once, Tristan was at a loss for what to say. He'd been told more than once about Liam Lake's lapses but he hadn't been prepared to deal with them himself. "Your son is back in 13, sir," Tristan said. "Davath's a soldier for the cause."

Liam laughed heartily, startling Tristan further. "Cause? 13 had no cause, save war. My dear little girl was too smart for them." Liam looked extremely proud at this statement. "But I wasn't talking about Davath. No no, I was talking about my other son, Riven. He takes such good care of Lyria and me."

Riven, Tristan recalled, was Lyria's mentor back in the Games. He had also been brought to 13 with Lyria in order to keep her calm while she was recovering. She needed someone she knew to take care of her. It had been out of necessity. They'd also thought him an able-bodied soldier for their cause and were surprised when he turned them down just as adamantly as Lyria had. As a result, when Lyria had requested to live off-site, he'd jumped at the opportunity to go with her and Coin had approved, if only to get him out of her barracks.

Again, Tristan was at a loss for what to say. He didn't know where Riven was and he certainly didn't want to upset the man. He was saved the trouble, however, when something behind him caught Liam's attention. "Oh, hello, darling." Spinning around to see what it was, he was struck to see a pair of big blue eyes peering at him from under a fringe of golden red hair.

His heart began to beat over time, the pocket watch beating in time. "Lyria," he breathed softly.

The girl was taller than she had been in the Games, though still tiny. Her hair was tied back into a waterfall of red locks and a familiar black heart shaped necklace hung around her neck. Her thin frame was clad in a simple black skirt and a grey-blue blouse. Her expression was akin to that of a doe caught in a bright light, too frightened to move and her lips were slightly parted, as if she were trying to speak, but couldn't find the words. He could have stood there, drinking in the sight of her forever - alive and well.

But if Coin had been under the impression that they were going to have a touching reunion where she jumped into his arms and they pledged their love, or something like that, she would have been sorely disappointed. Because after the shock wore off, Lyria looked murderous.

"What the hell did they do?"

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><p><strong>AN: Bet you didn't see that coming! Lyria's pissed!**

**Alright, I got two or three chapters left after this - not quite positive. Might be more, might be less. Depends on if you guys want an Epilogue or not, I suppose. All up to you. The next chapter is where they finally really talk to each other again - she explains and he explains. So if you want to see it sooner, review!**

**Do you like my explanation for how Lyria came back to life? Are you happy to see her dad and brother introduced into the story? Are you still curious as to what happened with Lecks? What about Riven's new rolls as "son?" Are you curious as to what's going on there? Whose your favorite character? Whose your least favorite character? What's been your favorite part of the story so far? What do you want to happen before I end the story? Let me know! And please, please, please, give me in depth opinions on my story. I crave them.**

**Happy Hunger Games~  
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**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: ****I also apologize for the long wait. This chapter started out really short, and I didn't feel comfortable posting something so minuscule close to the end of the story. So I took a break to see if I could come up with something when I came back. No go on that either. Three months later, however, the ending came to me. Just the Epilogue and the alternate ending left now, guys.**

**So apologies and I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my loyal reviewers.**

Chapter 18: Reunited

_"Seven years, I thought you were dead!"_

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><p><em>"What the hell did they do?"<em>

Both men were unsure of what to say. Tristan was shocked by how angry she was. Hadn't she missed him at all? Had he come all this way for nothing? He couldn't fathom her anger. But Liam made an odd noise at the back of his throat and both turned to look at the poor man who looked around the room with a look of despair across his face. "You're mad at me, aren't you, Lyria?" he asked, sounding so much like a kicked puppy that Tristan couldn't help but doubt that this man had once won the Games. "Please don't be mad at me, darling. I'll fix it. I promise I'll fix it and then you can stop being mad and-"

"I'm not mad at you, daddy," Lyria said, her voice gentler than it had been even moments before. Tristan took a peek at her and saw that her expression had softened and her eyes were warm. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around the much taller man who relaxed at the contact with his daughter, his eyes falling shut. "It's alright. I just need to talk to Tristan alone."

The older man pulled back and looked down at his daughter's face for a moment. With her back to him, Tristan had no idea what he saw there, but whatever it was, the man gave one solemn nod. "Okay." He turned and began to shuffle through the papers to the back door that he and Tristan had been heading for when Lyria had appeared. "I'll put out some juice and toast for when you're finished," he called out to the two of them just as the door swung shut behind him.

Lyria gave a slight smile and a roll of her eyes that quickly faded once she locked eyes with Tristan again. But that small gentle moment with her father gave him hope. There was the Lyria he knew and he could reach her if he just tried hard enough. But right now, she looked at him as if he was a stranger and that burned his insides. "Outside," she ordered angrily, "now."

Tristan, who was starting to work up some righteous anger of his own, couldn't help but give a snarky little bow before turning on heel and heading towards the front door.

The tiny redhead's eyes flashed and narrowed as she watched him go and headed out behind him. Tristan didn't stop at the porch - he jogged right down the stairs and turned to watch as Lyria turned around to close the door behind her; gently, so as not to upset her father. Then she turned back towards Tristan, walking down each step deliberately until she was on ground level, and that's when it started. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice coated with a strong venom.

Tristan was stung by her tone as it dug into his head and chest, and felt the anger rise just a little bit more in defense. "What am I doing here?" Tristan repeated, incredulous. How the hell did she not know? "I'm here looking for you! I should be asking you the same! You shouldn't even be alive."

That came out wrong and Tristan winced inwardly as what he said resonated in his mind.

Lyria's face flushed angrily and he was just waiting for the fallout now. "Sorry if my living upsets you," she ground out venomously, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, "but it's obviously not that much of a problem, considering you're the one that came after me!"

Voices were starting to rise, tempers flared in each and the pain and loneliness Tristan had been forced to endure for the last seven years of his life turned to bitter anger. "Oh, no, it's not you living that upsets me. That's fantastic as far as I'm concerned and I'm so happy you aren't dead that I can't even put it into words." Her eyes were set on him, unfeeling aside from the anger that pulsed just beneath the surface and he was struck with a memory of the arena. Why did she wear that guise, built up like a stone wall? Why didn't she look away from him? Because every moment her blue orbs bore into him, the more he resented her and the more he wanted to take her into his arms and just hold her until he was convinced she was real. "No, what upsets me is the fact that you let me think you were dead!" He was yelling now. "Seven years, I thought you were dead! And you know what? Even knowing that you weren't coming back couldn't ease my longing to see you again. I was in hell!"

Now she looked away, her mouth set and her eyes bright with something Tristan couldn't identify. When she spoke, her tone was just as cold as her gaze that was poised on the ground. She couldn't even look at him. "You should have stayed away," she said quietly.

Tristan was not willing to accept this - not after all he'd done and been through. He'd left his family and friends and _life_ for her, for fuck's sake, and all she could say was that he shouldn't have come? To hell with that! "NO!" he roared all of a sudden, causing her to tense and coil in on herself a bit, but her gaze remained steady on the ground. He attempted to calm himself down, but didn't quite manage it. "If you think for one moment that this is over just because you say so, you're dead wrong, little girl. Do you even realize what you've done to me?"

Lyria's head whipped up to face him, her arms falling to her side as anger reared it's head again. "Hate to break it to you, 7," she spat, her voice wavering with just how angry she was, the moniker she'd used once, so long ago with Ryanne ringing hollow in her ears, "but I haven't been a little girl for a long time." She took a step forward that didn't look quite voluntary. "You haven't been the only one whose suffered."

"Enlighten me then," Tristan snapped.

The girl across from him looked as if she'd never seen him before. And then her eyes closed and the only window he'd had to what she was truly feeling shut with them. "I didn't want you out here. I didn't want 13 to drag you into this mess too. I didn't want you here because..." she broke off, unable to finish whatever she was try to say as she took in a deep, shuddering breath that rocked her entire frame like an earthquake.

Tristan's heart had stopped with a thick, sickening, resounding thump as he waited for her to continue. The anger had waned a little, and he was left in despair. He'd also become acutely aware of how close Lyria sounded to crying, and he wasn't sure he could handle something like that. _"I didn't want you out here."_ She hadn't wanted him with her. She hadn't missed him like he'd missed her. There was only one thing that could redeem the situation and he clutched to it, following after it like a man immersed in the dark follows the single ray of light. "Because why?" he asked, his voice pleading with her.

The tiny girl didn't realize the power she held with her words. Every second she didn't answer was a second where he felt his world was falling down around him. "Please... don't," she whispered.

Don't what? Everything was breaking down and he couldn't understand why. Don't what? What did she not want him to do? And as unnerving as her eyes were, it was worse when they were hidden. "Lyria," he said, voice staying as steady as he could manage. "Look at me." For a second, it didn't look like she was going to listen, but then, slowly, she lifted her head and opened one eye. He shook his head, feeling pathetic. "Why don't you want me here?"

A tear ran down the side of her face. "I didn't want to torture you anymore. I didn't want to be the reason for your pain."

Lyria looked away from him again, swiping at her eyes and willing the tears to stop. She didn't know how he could even bear to look at her anymore, after all she'd done. He'd nearly gotten killed for her, and no matter what she did, she never stopped hurting him - not alive and not dead. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms, desperately trying to quell the tears, but they kept streaming. In trying to stop them, she made herself that much more hysterical and she emitted the first of her sobs; a sound that didn't seem suitable, coming from an 18 year old woman.

Because of her tears, the young woman could not see Tristan. She couldn't see the disbelief on his face or his pain at the sight of her crying. And she couldn't see the relief that was starting to overtake him.

She thought she was the cause of his pain. God, she was, but not in the way she thought. It was her absence; the pain of losing her. If only she knew how many times he'd woken up in a feral panic, having dreamed of her death again. If only she knew the guilt he'd felt, coming out alive instead of her. If only she knew just how much affect she had on him.

Tristan's heart beat faster now, thumping rhythmically against his sternum, in his jugular, in his head, drowning out his thoughts with it's sound. He felt like laughing, crying and screaming. But before he could do anything - anything at all - he had to know something else. So without giving any sort of indicator as to what he was thinking or feeling, he asked, "Is that the only reason? That you didn't want me here? Or is there something else?"

Lyria looked up at him with red eyes and tear tracks trailing down each cheek. "Isn't that reason enough?"

The man took a deep breath and plucked up all the nerve and courage he'd ever possessed in his life. His next question would decide everything. He walked forward until he was directly in front of her. He half expected her to step away from him, but she didn't. She simply bowed her head forward and continued to cry. Tristan cupped her chin and gently lifted it until her red rimmed sea-jewel eyes were focused on him. "Lyria..." he breathed, scared out of his mind as he searched her eyes for the answer of a question he had yet to ask her. "Do you love me?"

Tears streamed out of her eyes anew and he unthinkingly brought his other hand to brush back the tear with his thumb. The girl bit her lip and finally said, "I don't know. I did. It's been so long... and, we're not the same anymore." Lyria stepped away from him, and he managed to stay put, despite the force of hope that drew him to her.

I did.

God, those two words were the most crushing and the most encouraging he'd ever heard. She had loved him, at one time, but she wasn't so sure about her feelings anymore. That meant that she still could. But saying they weren't the same anymore... he thought that this fight, right here, proved that they were. After all this time, Lyria had never figured out exactly what his motivation was or why he did the things he did, and he was never quite sure himself. And she still managed to drive him completely up the wall.

"Lyria," he tried again, stepping forward to place his hand on her cheek again. This time, she didn't avert her eyes and they burned into his like the hottest fire. "Maybe you're right," he admitted. "Maybe we're not the same people we were in the arena. We're both older and we've had different experiences since then. But when you asked me to stay with you in the arena and I said I wouldn't dream of leaving, I meant it."

Lyria sniffled a little bit and gave a watery chuckle. "I can't believe you remember that."

Tristan cracked half a smile. "That's the only part of our Hunger Games that they ever replay." His small crack at humor made her giggle a little, which lightened his heart. Tristan moved a little closer, stooping a little to look her in the eyes. "But even if we are different now, I think I would still very much like to get to know the girl who once confounded me in the arena, and, I'm hoping that you would like to get to know me again, too. Because I've really missed you."

Lyria nodded, her golden-red curls bouncing on her shoulders, reminding him of a little girl from long ago. A girl who he protected, a girl who left him supplies, a girl who left him to the whims of a psychotic tribute, and a girl who saved him. A little girl who died in the arena, her ashes giving life to the woman before him. "I think I'd like that," she conceded, her smile bright enough to rival the sun.

~Sacrificed With Love~

_Riven watched the screen that housed his competitor avidly, unable to look away as she narrowly danced away from the blade that cleaved through the air, aiming for her and nothing else. She was lithe and deadly but he was forceful and more than a match. Was this really the same kid who'd looked at her pitying on the train? Aiden had lost himself in this game. What scared Riven was the idea that maybe Lyria had too. The way she looked was hardly human any longer and she had a rawness in her eyes that practically sang her pain._

_Another screen, not inches away from the one he stared at so intently, housed his tribute's protector, caught up in his own death match. Tristan and the boy from four; no weapons, just bodies, strength and wits. Tristan was captured in some sort of choke-hold, which easily could have ended the match, if the boy from four knew anything about breaking a neck. But obviously he didn't, because I well placed elbow freed Tristan from his grasp._

_Riven's eyes flickered back to his own tribute. The side of her coat had been ripped open by Marris in their previous fight, and he could see that the force of Aiden's blows against her left knife had reopened the wound. It didn't look like she even noticed._

_Lyria fell to the floor, narrowly missing the blade that chased after her. She was back on her feet a moment later, quicker than he could raise his blade again, and she went for the neck. Just a second too late, and he brought his sword up to block her, and she was forced to jump away from him again, losing her split second advantage._

_The next portion of their fight was like something out of a Captiol motion picture. It was very precise - close calls, but no hits - and it almost looked as if everything that went on was choreographed, and it went by fast. Aiden swung down low, going for her legs, but she jumped, swinging out with her left blade for his shoulder, narrowly missing as she touched back down. Before she could really regain her footing, he was lunging at her, aiming to put a hole through her, but she managed to deflect. Frustrated that he hadn't been able to make a sword sized hole in her, he brought the sword over his head and tried to bring it down on her. By now, though, she was surefooted and was able to dodge as if it were child's play. However, the sword was heavy, and he needed a moment to reign himself in after the wild show of power - something she took full advantage of. She darted forward, like a snake striking at their prey, and aimed to slash him in the face, which would be pretty debilitating. But Aiden saw her, and managed to backhand her before she got the blade anywhere near his face. This obviously disoriented Lyria, but she got a good shot at his nose with the butt of her dagger before she flitted off once more._

_Riven's heart hammered in his chest, almost painful. She brought a hand up to cradle her sore face, and Aiden took advantage of it. He sliced upwards, and for a moment, Riven was certain it was over; that his tribute had just been skewered. But just a half step back and she was able to avoid the worst of the damage. A thin line of red ran up her torso, shallow. Lyria still had a chance._

_The mentor's heart sunk in his chest as she pulled her attention away from the fight. "No, Lyria! Stop! Look up!" Too late - Aiden was bringing his sword down, aiming to cut her in half. Riven's heart stopped mid-beat as he waited for the death of his tribute._

_The blood, the sight of her falling to the ground, never came._

_Lyria had swung out of the way of the blade, and now glared at Aiden with a certain animal quality. Anger bloomed in those beautiful eyes and Riven saw the girl who the nation was rooting for return with a vengeance. In the blink of the eye, she'd moved, trying to land a cut on Aiden's thigh. He aimed a kick at her, as if trying to shoo a small animal away from him, but she dodged easily and weaved away from him, lighter on her feet than before._

_Their fight resumed with vigor. Each heart stopping move was elegant as it was frightening. Both aimed to kill, but they were too equally matched. It seemed like hours and like seconds, as the time ticked by. She'd gotten a good swipe at his face somewhere in there; Riven highly doubted the pain that was radiating from underneath his eye was allowing him to see too clearly. They were getting tired, but neither would let up. A quick glance around the room saw all the mentors who remained leaning in and watching their fight, with the exception of the mentor from 4 - Mags looked pretty serene as she watched Jansen's fight - and the mentor from 7, Caspar, who was watching Tristan like a hawk, though he appeared to be paying no attention at all as he sipped on something and lounged about on the Capitol couch._

_Riven returned his attention to the fights at hand. Lyria had just dodged another attempted killing blow by Aiden, though, at this very moment, it wasn't their fight that he was apt to focus on. Riven's attention was pulled to the other screen, where Tristan and Jansen were still going at it as well._

_Mags, even at the age of 56, must have been a pretty good coach, because Jansen was keeping his own pretty well, but it was Tristan that Riven paid closest attention too. This kid must have been in his fair share of fights back home, was all that Riven could think, because everything Jansen threw at him, Tristan was able to avoid or get out of, almost seamlessly. It was almost artistic._

_Jansen, in a ready stance, sized up Tristan with his hardened eyes. Tristan didn't seem to be ready at all, but the tension in his muscles belied his casual stance. In a move that was both calculated, and reckless, Jansen charged across the small stretch of space between them, aiming to tackle Tristan, it seemed. Tristan tensed further, preparing for impact, or so Riven thought. However, when Jansen reached him, he moved out of the way, kicked one of his legs in and hit him hard on the back, effectively knocking him down, his head smashing against the tree that had been directly behind Tristan in the process._

_Tristan looked down at his own work with an air of regret, as he stepped around Jansen's prone body. The boy from 4 was making a weak attempt to get up, but it wasn't working. Riven watched as district 7's tribute leaned down over his adversary, grabbed each side of his head, and twisted hard, effectively ending the life of another competitor._

_Tristan then stood to his full height, picking up the staff he'd discarded at the beginning of the fight. "Lyria?" he questioned, looking around, to see if she popped up. "Lyria?" he tried again, slowly moving towards where he'd seen her disappear. Having realized she wasn't close enough to hear, he began to jog in that direction, a fitting, "Dammit, Lyria," escaping his lips as he did so. He was bruised and tired - he didn't have the energy to go sprinting after her for a quarter mile._

_Riven turned his attention back to his own tribute in time to see Aiden aiming another blow towards her head. Watching, though, he realized that when Aiden brought the long blade down on top of Lyria, who captured the blade between her two knives, the blow hadn't been dealt with all his strength. The mentor watched in horror as his own fears were realized. Aiden let go of the blade with one hand and hit her in the side of the face._

_It disoriented her. She stepped back, releasing the sword, and clutched her face in agony. Riven knew she'd never be able to dodge this time. The triumph in Aiden's eyes was absolute. The older boy brought the sword back and lunged forward, going straight for her middle. Riven closed his eyes, unable to watch._

_There was a collective gasp around the room, and Riven knew that she was done._

_The 19 year old man looked up and watched as Aiden stood over her, his sword sticking out of her stomach grotesquely. A glance at her face found a certain serenity that he wouldn't have expected from her. Riven had always pegged Lyria to fight down to the last second, but, in a way, he knew that this was her way of fighting. She wouldn't let the world see her pain as she died - the regrets she held and the bitterness that was her right. Lyria was fighting to stay herself, even as she bled to death and stared at her murderer. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked of him._

_Her fellow district 2 tribute seemed at a loss for words. He tried to say something, but nothing came out. Riven was filled with rage at the boy. It was his fault and he couldn't even answer her. "I-I... I've killed you."_

_"Yes, you have."_

_Her admission was easy, as if they were talking about the weather, rather than her life. It hurt Riven to hear her complacency, but he hoped it hurt Aiden even more. He wanted nothing but pain towards that bastard. Riven Santana had been raised as a career and cultivated into a decent man. The career in him would always be there, and it was the career part of him that wanted Aiden to suffer._

_But her admission didn't hurt the other District 2 tribute. Not in the way Riven desired, anyway. His breathing became labored and unsteady just before a wild sound broke free of him. Whatever brief grasp he'd had on his sanity - on his humanity - was gone. "You-you took everything from me!" the broken boy roared. Aiden reached out and grabbed the sword by the hilt and wrenched it from her tiny form. Blood began to pour faster still from the wound, but Lyria didn't even flinch. Riven winced when he brought it back down, wedging it through her body, and into the ground, if he were any sort of judge. "You took the sympathy, the support, the money! You took my life from me!" Aiden, looking more like a feral animal than a boy, backed away from her body, as if she still posed any danger._

_"Yes," Lyria acknowledged wisely, accepting the role he cast her in - the villain, the one who ruined his life - though it wasn't her's. "I took your life and now you've taken mine. We're even."_

_Her voice, her expression or maybe even her mere presence; something about her spooked him further, and he backed away, taking up a defensive visage. "What are you?" he demanded of her, baring his teeth like a wild man. "I've just _killed_ you__! HOW CAN YOU BE THIS CALM?"_

_It was at this moment that Tristan found them. The 17 year old staggered back slightly, the sight hitting him hard. Riven could see it in his face; the disbelief, the agony and the rage that warred to take hold of his features as he tried to sort out what was happening. His gaze bounced back and forth between the two, trying to understand what his eyes were telling him but his heart and head wouldn't believe. Riven wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but when Lyria's small voice answer Aiden's demand softly, "I'm just a little girl," Tristan heard it. A sound, not quite human, not quite animal, but something completely otherworldly tore from his throat as he began to run towards the two._

_Neither seemed to notice. Lyria was fading and Aiden was too far gone mentally - Lyria, his villain, and her death, were all that mattered to him. He began to ramble incoherently. Tristan neared, bringing his arm back, and throwing the staff/spear he'd been fortunate enough to find at the beginning of the game. "You're no little girl. You're a dangerous creature. You deserve-" Aiden was cut off before he could finish this thought, as the spear lodged itself in his throat._

_Riven watched, a sense of satisfaction blooming in his chest as Tristan dealt with Aiden. The tribute from 7 lost himself to his anger as he wrenched the spear from Aiden's neck and stabbed him over and over again. He dragged Aiden behind him, and slammed him into a tree before running him through with the spear a final time, pinning his body to the tree as he slumped over the long rod like a doll. Riven watched as the boy turned his head just enough to lock eyes with his killer and whisper, "I got her." It was this moment when his life force gave out and the life died from his eyes._

_Riven was filled with rage. He hadn't suffered enough; not for what he'd done to her. The man who really suffered was Tristan, as he feel to his knees before Aiden's corpse and howled out his sorrows. It was an agonizing sound, painful to hear, and his face was contorted in anger and agony._

_They all watched as Riven wretched, the little contents in his stomach emptying onto the grassy floor, and waited for them to pronounce him the winner of the Games. Riven was starting to wonder what they were waiting for when a sound, sweet and magical, filled the room. "Tristan," her amplified voice rang out, calling to him like a spirit. The victor's head whipped up at the sound. "Tristan," she sounded again, her voice frailer, "where have you gone?"_

_Tristan scrambled to get to her, half walking, half crawling. He reached out, seemingly not even realizing he was doing it, and pulled the sword from her stomach, flinging it far away. Lyria's tiny, pale hand reach out for him, and he accepted it, taking it in both of his and kissing it. He comforted her and apologized. Riven suddenly felt he shouldn't be watching this - it seemed very personal and he felt as if he were intruding. The dark haired man turned his face away from the screens, finally letting himself succumb to the sorrow of the loss of his tribute. Lyria would be dead in a matter of moments. The other mentors seemed to feel much the same as he did, as some began to exit from the viewing room and others began to chat among themselves, some quietly congratulating Caspar on the win of his tribute._

_Riven looked at the mentor as he accepted their congratulations, and found that he was still looking at the screens intently, no relief present in his features. Rather, the young mentor from 7 looked saddened, as if he'd just lost his own tribute. __Perhaps feeling Riven's eyes on him, the other mentor tore his eyes from the screen to look at him. A look of understanding passed between the two, and Caspar inclined his head in Riven's direction, respectfully. Riven returned the gesture and turned his gaze towards the floor, waiting for the sound of the canon._

_They didn't disappoint. "The winner is District 7 male tribute, Tristan Whitlock!"_

_Riven was reminded of a time when it had been his name they were calling in a victory cry. But before he could look at the screen to see the emotional devastation that no doubt colored this year's tribute, a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find a sorrowful Lecks staring at the screen, a single tear trailing down his cheek. "Come with me," his gruff voice ordered._

_In no state to ask why or resist, Riven simply stood and followed after the elderly man. The viewing room was hosted in a different building than the training center and tribute's quarters were, allowing sponsors to come view their favorite tributes as well. Lecks led him to the elevator and brought him down to the ground floor. But instead of hailing some sort of vehicle to take them back to the training center, they began to walk. "I think we could both use a bit of fresh air," he said, answering Riven's unasked question, his voice heavy with emotion._

_Riven didn't think walking would help, but being independent of the Capitol for just a moment - walking, instead of speeding around in their stupid cars - did help, even if just a little. He was still angry and upset by the time they reached the training center almost an hour later, but he could control himself again._

_Lecks surprised him when he led him past the elevator, however, and towards the stairs. They were only on the second floor; hardly any sort of trek. Riven followed obediently though, trusting the wisdom of the older man and still not in much of a mood to question him. However, when they walked right past the second floor, and continued on up, Riven started to get curious. Where exactly were they going? Riven was content to let it slide until they reached the 10th floor. "Where are we going?" he finally asked, now feeling quite out of breath._

_Lecks looked back at him, his eyes enigmatic, a slight smile gracing his elderly face. "You will see."_

_When they reach the 12th floor, Lecks suddenly turns and knocks on the door. Riven was shocked. What were they doing here in the District 12 quarters? What could they possibly want here? A moment later, the door swings open and bright, grey eyes take both of them from under a mop of dark curly hair. Riven recognizes the man as the victor from the former year, Haymitch Abernathy, though he seems to have taken a bit of a nosedive since his victory. "What took ya?" he grumbled, swinging the door open wider to allow them entrance. Lecks immediately takes the initiative and entered the apartment._

_"Thank you for your help, Haymitch," Lecks said to the rude young man who was already trailing around the Capitol quarters, paying neither of them any mind. "I've already sent notice for one of my servants back in 2 to send you some of our finest wine."_

_Haymitch waved them off, going to slump on the couch, looking tired and run ragged. Riven was more confused than ever. Haymitch was helping them? How? And why was Lecks sending him wine? But, right now didn't seem to be the time to ask questions. Lecks was heading towards another set of stairs, and he clearly expected Riven to follow. Haymitch turned to the younger of the 2 mentors and gave him a lazy salute before falling over sideways on the couch. Riven had heard that victors often fell to drinking to relieve the pain from the arena, but Haymitch just seemed so young to be drinking his life away, but then, he hadn't been raised to cope with the things he'd done like Riven had._

_Riven followed Lecks up a set of stairs, realizing they were headed towards the roof. He couldn't take the questions anymore. "What are we doing?" he demanded of the older man, grabbing onto his jacket and stopping him just before they reached the door that would lead them to the roof. "Where are you taking me."_

_The elderly victor turned to Riven with a heavy sigh, his old eyes tired and sad. "I'm finally doing the right thing, and I'm going to need you to trust that."_

_Riven didn't know why, but he didn't have it in him to question Lecks further. He looked tired and sad and worn down past the point any man can take, so he released his hold on his jacket and nodded. Lecks gave a slight smile before opening the door and leading him out onto the roof. The wind was beating wildly - almost hard enough to completely drown out the sound of the hovercraft waiting a mere twenty feet away. Riven is astounded when Lecks starts walking towards it, and he follows dumbly. When they're right underneath it, a ladder drops down. "You first," Lecks insists, the small smile from earlier returning with a little more power._

_Riven, remembering what Lecks had said just moments before, nodded, and reached out to grab the ladder with one hand. It begins to lift him towards the hovercraft. Once he's up inside, he's aware of a steady beeping sound and a whooshing noise that makes him turn around._

_There, strapped to a gurney, with a tube sticking out of her mouth and monitors going steady, monitoring her heart, is Lyria._

_Riven is overjoyed to see her, and looking around, he recognizes that though this hovercraft is very similar to the ones flown by the Capitol, it is also different, and the people within were plain, strong, average people - a far cry from the Capitol pilots. He turns back around, too overwhelmed by everything, but the space where he expects to see Lecks, smiling his knowing smile, is empty. Riven looked down to where the ladder was raising the rest of the way to see that Lecks was still on the ground, and was getting farther and farther away. Riven can still see his smile as he waves them off._

_Riven can't believe it. He planned this. "Stop!" he orders the captain, still staring down at the elderly man. They don't even slow. "We can't leave without him!"_

_A hand on his shoulder and a crystalline voice silence him. "It's what he wanted."_

_Riven doesn't understand that. He said he was finally going to do the right thing. The right thing would to be to come with them and finally take care of Lyria like he should have been from the beginning. That selfish old bastard was leaving Riven with a girl who he had no idea how to take care of, and he hated him for it. Riven wanted to yell all sorts of obscenities, but before he could, the main door that led up to the roof banged open and men in white suits began to flood onto the rooftop. Lecks was still looking up at them, a serene expression on his face when the Peacekeeper fired. Riven saw it when the bullet went through his head._

_Lecks fell forward onto the ground and Riven realized that he'd sacrificed himself so they could get away. The main doorway, and no doubt, the one in 12's penthouse, were monitored. Haymitch was a sneaky bastard - probably disarmed it so they could get up to the roof from his quarters - but they still needed some sort of scapegoat to have a clean getaway._

_Riven let his eyes slide shut as he mourned the older gentleman, but stood and made his way over to where Lyria was fast asleep on the gurney. He could see where they'd patched up her arm. Riven took her tiny hand in his. "I guess you just have that effect," he said quietly._

_Lyria was finally safe and sound. The Capitol had their sacrifice and things could finally fall to silence, if only fate would let them._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I don't have much to say for this chapter.**

**Please, review. Tell me what your favorite scene has been so far. Whose your favorite character? Your least favorite? Do you like Tristan/Lyria? Are you excited for the epilogue? Let me know!**

**Happy Hunger Games~**

**Madly Yours,  
>Jassabella<strong>


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